


Telling Tales

by Lady_Kit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, No Smut, Story Collection, Swapfell AU, Underfell AU, Underswap AU, prompt portal/requests, sorry - Freeform, tags/trigger warnings/relationships posted in individual chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/pseuds/Lady_Kit
Summary: A collection of unrelated short stories. Currently not open for requests, but any and all requests posted are adoptable, if any writers are looking for inspiration.





	1. Kit's Rules and Readers' Requests

**Author's Note:**

> If a story is taking place within a particular AU, those characters' normal names will be used. In multi-universal stories:
> 
> Papyrus = Undertale Pap  
> Sans = Undertale Sans  
> Stretch/Rus = Underswap Pap  
> Blue = Underswap Sans  
> Edge = Underfell Pap  
> Red = Underfell Sans  
> Slim = Swapfell Pap  
> Razz = Swapfull Sans

Hello, everyone! I wanted to try my hand at creating some short fiction, since I don’t really have a lot of practice with it. All chapters after this one will be individual stories, some inspired by my own mind and some inspired by your requests. Each chapter will be tagged individually, since I don’t particularly want to create a wall of tags above my summary.

 

**I am not currently taking requests, because I'm focusing on a sequel to my other fic, Broken Bones. Sorry. : ) I will occasionally host drabble nights on my Tumblr, though, so check me out over there if you want to make a request. Otherwise, drabbles/short stories will be posted here at a later date. Thank you!**

 

~~I have a few guidelines, so please read them before you make a request:~~

~~1\. These are requests, not commissions. I may or may not get to your prompt, depending on my level of interest. I don’t like to turn out mediocre work, and the only way I can do that is by working on things that interest me. _However, all prompts are freely available to anyone who wants to fill them—even if I’ve already filled it myself._ Honestly, there’s enough creativity out there that two people can fill the same prompt and come up with entirely different scenarios.~~   
  
~~2\. Do not pressure me, please. If you start pressuring me, then you are only guaranteeing that I will not answer your prompt. I’m sorry if this seems unfair, but I’m protecting my mental health, here—I’m doing this because I enjoy it, not because it’s my job.~~   
  
~~3\. I’m not going to put a lot of limits on the requests you can make, because honestly, every time I think of a limit, I can always come up with exceptions. I can go dark. I can go fluffy. I can do angst. I can do a lot of things, so long as I find it interesting. There are two things that, as of now, I won’t do:~~

             - ~~Smut. I’m sorry. I just. I don’t feel comfortable writing it.~~

              ~~\- Fontcest between brothers. Cross-universal fontcest is fine by me, as is Papcest or Sanscest. Considering my bookmarks, this honestly makes me feel like a hypocrite, but it just…makes me uncomfortable to write. Again, I’m sorry.~~

~~So, you might be wondering what will make me more likely to answer a prompt? Here’s a handy little guide:~~

~~Papyrus is my favorite character, so I am most likely to answer requests involving him—or any of his AU counterparts.~~

~~I’m more likely to write for AUs that I’m familiar with. Unfortunately, that really just means the big four—Original, Underfell, Swapfell, and Underswap. (Yes, that is in order of interest.)~~

~~Character interactions _fascinate_ me. Not just romantic, either—platonic, fraternal, paternal, ect. Give me more than just a general CharacterAxCharacterB, though. Give me a situation or a jumping off point (a quote, a word, anything, really, just something to get my brain working).~~

~~Prompts that I find to be particularly original or unique. For example: There are many lovely stories about abused!Red finding his way into Underswap and being taken under Stretch’s wing. Because of that, I feel I have nothing to add to that particular dynamic or plotline. If you give a frequently used prompt/plotline an interesting spin, however, I will be more inclined to cover it. (I do love subverting expectation and will often make use of familiar tropes to do so.)~~

~~That’s everything I can think of for now. If I have any edits to make, I’ll make them on this page, so be sure to skim it before you make any requests, even if you’ve read it before. Oh, and feel free to make multiple requests, just leave them in multiple comments, please. All requests should be located in the comments of this “chapter”, please. This is for my convenience and the convenience of any other writers looking for prompts.~~

~~(I have also created a prompt portal/short story collection for stories related to my longer fic, “Broken Bones”. If you have a request for that collection, please post it there. Thank you!)~~


	2. Doomfanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus made a friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Underfell. Doomfanger. Edge and Red. Drabble. (Yes, little Edge also has an accent.)

Sans stared at his little brother and swallowed tightly, trying not to freak out. Papyrus—small and cute and _way_ too nice for their kill-or-be-killed environment—held up what was probably the ugliest, meanest looking cat Sans had ever seen. The fucker was big too. It—he?—was probably half Papyrus’ size, and definitely half his weight. One ear had been clawed to shreds, and it was missing an eye and half its tail. “LOOK, SANS! I MADE A FRIEND!” Papyrus said cheerfully, forgetting some of Sans’ lessons about keeping quiet in his excitement.

“y-yeah, bro. i, uh, i can see that.”

“ ’IS NAME IS DOOMFANGER!”

Of course it was. What else would you name a cat that looked like it could successfully tell the king himself to fuck off? “alright, bro. where, uh, where’d ya find ‘im?”

“AT THE DUMP. HE LOOKED HUNGRY, SO I SHARED MY LUNCH WITH ‘IM.”

Worst of all? The fucking cat was _purring_ like no one had ever pet it before in its life. Which, honestly, made sense. No sane person would pet that fucking thing. It looked like it could bite your hand off! And would. Happily. How the fuck Papyrus even managed to get close to it was completely baffling, and not a little terrifying. “tha’s. nice,” Sans said slowly.

Damn it. Papyrus was going to be the death of him. If he wasn’t trying to make friends with things that would happily maul him, he was _successfully_ making friends with things that would happily maul Sans. “CAN WE KEEP ‘IM BROTHER? PLEASE?”

Sans looked between his brother and the cat from hell. He sighed and smiled slightly. “sure, bro. we can keep ‘im.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Doomfanger when he's adorable and fluffy, I've always kind of wondered what kind of cat could even survive in Underfell.


	3. Four times Edge tried to hide his tail, and one time he chose not to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For SansyFresh, who requested Edge with a tail and someone discovering it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Underfell. Dr. Gaster. Babybones. Flowey. Multiverse shenanigans. Kedgeup. Hurt/comfort. A surprising amount of angst. Red's a good big bro. Sans is a sweetheart.
> 
> Trigger warning in the endnotes.

**P2, tURn**. P2 obeyed, small bones trembling. He clenched his hands behind his back, futilely trying to conceal his lower pelvis and coccyx. Gaster’s faceplates shifted into a frown. **p2, CEasE yOuR fooLISHneSS.** Still trembling, P2 pulled his hands away and brought them up to his chest, wringing them. As soon as he did, Gaster gripped the base of his tail and ran an uncaring hand down the thin, fragile-looking vertebrae. The tail bucked in his grip. **P2!** Gaster snapped, but that only caused P2’s tail to press inward, trying to tuck between his femurs.

Sighing, Gaster stepped away and grumbled under his breath. P2 just stood trembling, knowing that if he tried to run or hide, Gaster would find him—Gaster _always_ found him—and then he’d either be strapped down or sedated. P2 didn’t want either of those things to happen, so he tried to hold himself still, even as Gaster gripped him by his lumbar vertebrae and plunged a needle into the base of his coccyx, tilting the needle so it slipped between the disks and into the vertebra’s marrow-rich center.

P2 was able to hold still through that, but he couldn’t hold in the shriek of pain and rage or the low growl that vibrated his cervical vertebrae. It earned him a quick, harsh slap across his pelvis when Gaster pulled the needle free. “AH!” he cried out, and tears began to well in his sockets. Gaster caught him by the mandible and stared into his eyelights until P2 looked away.

Gaster grunted his satisfaction, then checked the time, waiting. After a few minutes had passed, P2 realized that his tail—always twitching, flicking and curling, all without conscious thought—had gone limp. Whimpering, he reached for it, but Gaster batted his hands away. **eNouGH, P2. I aM OUt of pATiEnCE fOr ToDAY.**

So P2 allowed his maker to study the appendage, listening as he said—his voice discordant and unpleasant to hear, like claws running down P2’s vertebrae—that the limb should probably be amputated. Gaster did not tolerate imperfection in his creations. They were weapons, not people, and anything that didn’t make them more functional, more powerful should be pruned away. The tail, he said, was an anomaly. He’d allowed it to remain as long as he had because it had been an intriguing mutation, and he’d wanted to study it further. He had a few more tests to run today, but it was high time to remove the extraneous limb.

P2’s soul started pounding in fear…and rage. Maybe the tail was out of place, but it was _his_ , and he was tired of having things stripped away from him. (Weapons did not need toys, even hand-made ones crafted from bits of torn up blanket and shaped, roughly, into dolls. Weapons didn’t need blankets, either, not when their cages were maintained at a comfortable temperature. And certainly not when they misused the privilege.) The rage only built as Gaster finished his examination, taking notes and making observations aloud for the room’s recording equipment. Near the end of his study, the magic relaxant had almost worn off, and P2’s tail had resumed its autonomous twitches.

Good.

P2 suddenly lashed out, raking his claws over Gaster’s arm. He used the contact point for leverage and vaulted himself up, onto Gaster’s shoulder. Gaster was already grabbing him by the throat and pulling him off, but P2’s tail flicked out and lashed him across the face. The thin, whip-like appendage left a strip of flushed magic across Gaster’s faceplates, and he cried out, clutching his face and releasing P2.

P2 scrambled away, backing into a corner and hissing at Gaster, holding his arms out to the side, claws hooked, and tail whipping behind him. Trying to make himself look bigger than he really was. Gaster straightened, an odd look on his face. Considering. Evaluating. P2 studied him in turn. **CoME,** Gaster ordered. P2 hesitated, starting to tremble again. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe he’d miscalculated. Eventually, though, P2 lowered his arms and slunk out of the corner, keeping his head low and his shoulders pulled inward. He was punished, of course. Attacking their maker was not tolerated.

But he got to keep his tail, and P2 considered that a victory.

 

S1 was scary. Bigger and older and stronger than P2, S1 had already lost most of his flat baby teeth and sharp adult teeth had grown in their place. Yes, S1 was scary…but he was nice too, sometimes. Late at night, when P2 couldn’t sleep—and P2 could never sleep without being sedated—S1 would sometimes sit up with him and tell stories. Nice stories. Happy stories. Stories that allowed P2 to at least close his sockets and sink into another place. A place without cages and needles and tests. A place with soft things. Nice things. Things that were good to eat, instead of the blandly unpleasant nutrient paste they were given. Things that, honestly, P2 could barely imagine.

So, P2 had mixed feelings when Gaster put them into the same cage. He said that they were going to begin training together soon enough, and they needed become better aquainted. He wanted them to work as a unit, to learn how the other thought, how he moved and spoke. **S1 HaS DEEp WeLLs OF magIc, BUt HE iS ToO FRAgilE to STaND aLOne. p2 HAs hIGh stAtS—hIS HP iS UNparalLelED, ANd HiS aT IS imPREssIVE. HoWEVer, hIS laCK Of Kr lEAveS hIM vulNERablE to HiS OWn LV. S1, YOu mUSt pREVenT HIs LV fRoM RISinG tOO hIGh. p2, yOU ArE to PREvENt s1 FRoM TAkinG anY Damage.**

**S1 IS thE SWOrD, aND p2 iS THe ShIELd. YoU unDERstANd?**

They both nodded, though P2 did not understand. S1 did not look fragile; his bones were thick and he fought more consistently against Gaster’s conditioning. P2 was much smaller and more delicate looking, not to mention more pliant in personality. It seemed absurd that Gaster could expect P2 to serve as S1’s shield—especially since it was S1 that made a habit of trying to distract Gaster whenever P2 was being punished. It never worked. They only ended up being punished together, but it still seemed like S1 would make a better shield than P2.

“sure, doc. yer the boss, right?” S1 said, and there was something mocking in his tone. Gaster caught it too, his faceplates shifting into a frown. He didn’t say anything, though, just locked the cage door and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the sterile laboratory. Then P2 found himself the object of S1’s reddened eyelights, and he shrank in on himself. “heya, kiddo. ya doin’ okay there?” S1 reached for him, but P2 edged away, fitting himself into a corner.

S1 sighed and smiled sadly. He scooted into the corner diagonally across from P2. “ ‘s cool,” he said, “ya can stay right there, if yer comfy. don’ worry ‘bout it.” He closed his sockets and leaned back, looking for all the world like he was asleep.

P2 was not fooled. He pressed himself more tightly into the corner, never allowing his gaze to wander from S1. Anxiety caused his soul to twist, and his tail started to twitch. The hospital gowns that Gaster gave them to wear did little to restrict his tail’s movement, and with every twitch, it hit the metal wall of their cage, causing a quiet _ping_ to sound. P2’s soul seized and he laid his hand flat over the tip of his tail, trying to hold it still. S1, however, had definitely heard and he definitely noticed P2’s actions.

P2 squirmed, anxious and upset. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but his experience with Gaster had taught him to fear other monsters’ reactions and any sign of interest in his person. S1, though, just cracked his sockets open a fraction and asked, “so, ya do got a tail, huh? thought i heard the doc er one ‘a the techs say sumthin’ ‘bout it. he gonna let ya keep it?”

Slowly, P2 nodded, and S1 beamed at him. The broad grin made something inside P2 unclench and he relaxed away from the wall a little. “good on you, kid.” He held out his fist, and P2 eyed it suspiciously. S1’s smile gentled, despite the sharp teeth. “like this,” he said, and tapped his knuckles together.

P2 cautiously reached out and tapped his knuckles against S1’s. “tha’s right, kiddo. brofist,” S1 said.

“BROFIST?”

“yeah. yer my little bro, ain’t ya? doc made both ‘a us. makes ‘im the worst dad ever, but that jus’ means i gotta be the best big brother fer my little bro, right?”

P2 wasn’t at all sure about that. The concept of ‘dads’ and ‘brothers’ wasn’t something he was all that familiar with, and he wasn’t quite ready to trust the other skeleton…but he liked the warm feeling touching knuckles with S1 gave him, and he liked seeing the other smile at him like that.

“O-OKAY,” he said hesitantly. It might be nice, he thought, to have S1 for a big brother.

 

Papyrus crept through the dump, head up and senses alert. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be out like this. Sans had an errand to run and had told him to stay in the cave. Ordered him, really. But. Papyrus wouldn’t be gone long. He _wouldn’t_. He’d keep track of the time, and he’d be back before Sans could miss him. Besides, he’d seen something interesting in this part of the dump the other day, and he needed to know if he’d been imagining it.

So he crept through the junk piles, careful not to make a sound or send the junk piles tumbling. He was small still, though Sans claimed he was getting taller everyday, and it was easy enough to keep low and to stay hidden in the cluttered dump. Then, up ahead, he saw a flicker of yellow and his soul started to pulse excitedly. Yes! He hadn’t imagined it!

Carefully, he shimmied into a narrow passage between debris piles and hunkered down to watch. It was a flower monster, despite Sans’ claim that there was no such thing as ‘flower monsters’. Papyrus didn’t know what else it could be. It was obviously a flower—it had broad yellow petals and a green stem and green leaves and _what else could it possibly be_? It was obviously a monster, too, because it had a face, and it had disappeared as soon as Papyrus tried to guide Sans over to it last time.

Now, he just had to figure out what to do with his newfound knowledge. Sans wouldn’t come out here to see a flower monster he didn’t believe in, but Papyrus _had to prove he’d been right!_ It was good to have Sans as an older brother, but sometimes, he just didn’t listen, and Papyrus needed to prove he wasn’t a babybones anymore. He could run errands too! He could help, if Sans would only let him! He just had to prove that he could, and then Sans would let him. He knew it.

Papyrus’ scheming was interrupted by the sound of crying. The young skeleton monster went still immediately. Was…? Was the flower crying? Papyrus’ sockets went wide as he realized that it was. Oh. Oh, that wasn’t good. Squeezing out of the narrow crevice, he crept into the dim light. “YA—“ He cleared his throat, remembering his brother’s lessons about speaking quietly; attracting notice in the Underground was rarely a good thing. “Ya shouldn’ cry,” he said, “It never helps.” It didn’t. Gaste— His throat went tight. Crying never helped, and it could lead bigger, meaner monsters to their location.

The flower jumped at the sound of his voice, green tendrils flailing. It spun around to stare at him, and its face twisted into a fierce mask. Voice wavering, it said, “G-go away! I-I’ll _eat you_ if you don’t leave right now!”

The threat was unconvincing—and, honestly, a little ridiculous—and Papyrus only scooted closer. “Wouldn’ taste very good,” he said, “ ‘m all bone.” Puns always cheered his brother up when he was upset, but it just seemed to confuse the flower. It shook its leaves at him, but Papyrus couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a threat display or if it was just shaking because it was scared. “Why’re ya cryin’ anyway?”

The flower curled in on itself. “None of your business!” it snapped. “Just—just go away!”

Papyrus sat down, crossing his legs in front of him. “Ya don’ have ta tell me why yer cryin’,” he said sagely, “ ‘s okay. But I can’t leave ‘til I know yer gonna be okay.”

The flower stared at him, it’s face losing the sharp, scary features and becoming something softer and sweeter. “You. You aren’t like everyone else, are you?” Papyrus just shrugged, not really understanding what the flower meant.

“What’s yer name?” he chirped instead, squirming a little in excitement. He loved asking for monsters’ names, because it meant that he’d get to tell them his name in turn. Having a name instead of a designation made him a _person_ rather than an object, and he was always happy to have that fact acknowledged and affirmed. Considering the nature of the vast majority of monsters Underground, Papyrus was rarely allowed that luxury, and he relished it every time the opportunity presented itself. The flower squirmed uncomfortably, like it didn’t want to tell him or didn’t know what to tell him. Then, suddenly, Papyrus had an uncomfortable realization. “Ya don’ have one?”

The flower twisted in on itself. “I-I do! And it’s a good name! It’s—it’s—“

“Tha’s okay,” Papyrus said softly, “I didn’ used ta have a name either. But—but Sans gave me one, an’ I can give you one too!” Excited, he squirmed a little closer. “If-if ya want.” The flower eyed him skeptically, leaves still shaking. By now, excitement was causing the tip of Papyrus’s tail to flick and twitch, though most of its length was bound to his left leg. As soon as they were free and had real clothes, Papyrus had torn his medical gown into strips and bound the tail to his leg. The tail, he’d decided somewhere along the way, was personal. _His_. And he didn’t want to have to use it as a weapon, though Sans had emphasized to him that they were going to have to fight. It was the way of their world. Papyrus would preserve this part of himself, though. It would remain innocent, even if the rest of him wasn’t.

Papyrus was busy trying to think of a name, so he didn’t really notice the tip of his tail flicking, and he certainly hadn’t noticed how it pressed against his pant leg. The flower monster had noticed, though. “I know!” Papyrus said, “Flowey! Tha’s a good name, right?”

The flower glared at him. “That’s a stupid name,” it said, “I hate it.”

“Oh.” Papyrus’s shoulders hunched in a little, and his tail went still. He forced himself to brighten though, and his tail began to twitch as he said, “Tha’s okay! We can pick another one. Is there—“

“What is that, anyway?” the flower demanded, a green vine snaking across the snow to snag Papyrus’ leg. Another vine popped up and started to push the hem of his trouser leg back.

Panic gripped Papyrus’ soul. “NO!” he screamed and tore away from the vines. “STOP!”

The flower frowned. “I just want to see! Stop being a baby.” More vines suddenly popped up, pulling at his clothing.

“NO!” Papyrus cried, struggling against the vines. He called on his magic and flung it at the flower monster. There were too many vines, though, and the flower monster barely seemed bothered by the thrown bones. In the end, Papyrus’ trouser leg was torn along the seam, and the vines tugged at his newly-freed tail, curious and…disappointed.

“That’s it?” the flower said. “Why’d you make such a big deal out of—“ Then the flower saw that Papyrus was curled in the fetal position on the dirty ground, red tears rolling down his cheekbones as he cried silently. The vines retracted and the flower shrunk down. “H-hey. It’s, um, it’s okay. I-I didn’t mean to—You don’t have to cry anymore. It’s okay. It’s—“ Papyrus just pulled in on himself even more, his tail curled up between his legs and clutched protectively to his chest.

“I.” The flower looked down at the ground, ashamed. “I’m sorry,” it whispered.

[RESET]

“Flowey! Tha’s a good name, right?” Papyrus felt a little weird, like he’d already said this, like…like something bad had happened too. He shook the feeling off. Everything would be fine; he just had to stay positive!

The flower looked at him strangely. “Yeah,” it finally said, “Yeah. That’s a good name. What’s yours?”

 

The surface was. Incredible. Intimidating. Beautiful. Wonderful. _Terrifying_. Everything he’d ever imagined and more. Meeting parallel versions of himself and his brother—of their entire Underground, really—had been…well, it had just been weird, to be frank. Seeing an unscarred, irrepressibly _nice_ version of himself had been bizarre, as had meeting the lazy, laid back version. And meeting Slim had just been upsetting.

It was nice to have other skeletons to explore the surface with, though, and he had grown fond of them over time, particularly Sans. Not _his_ Sans, who they now called Red. The non-Swap, Tale-verse skeletons had elected to keep their names, since—as Sans said—they’d been the first to reach the surface. It was a fair enough metric, and ‘Edge’ was an appealing enough nickname, even if the infuriating version of himself kept lengthening it to ‘edgelord’. (Besides, an inner, childish voice insisted that if a name was good, a nickname was even _better_!)

One question kept running through his mind, though, every time he interacted with another version of himself. Did any of them have tails? They had to, right? Aside from a few cosmetic traits, they were all identical, right? So, they must have tails. But. He was afraid to ask. (In the privacy of his own mind, he’d allow himself to admit to that.)

He had mixed feelings about his own tail—an uncomfortable blend of shame and protectiveness and even a weird kind of pride that only fed back into the shame. It was, in any case, deeply personal to him, and not something he wanted to reveal to any of the others, unless they were similarly endowed. So, of course, Edge crafted a plan and carefully suggested to Blue that going to the beach might be nice. It wasn’t all that far from New New Home. (Stars, Undertale Asgore really was bad at naming things.) Blue had perked up at the idea and, soon enough, he and Papyrus had organized a short trip for all the skeletons.

This was the climactic day, and as Edge parked his motorcycle, he noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. Across the sand, he could already see Papyrus and Blue starting to set up a pair of beach umbrellas. Sans was already half-buried in the sand, asleep, and Stretch was stretched out on a beach chair, long legs extended in front of him. Edge grabbed the beach bag from his saddlebags, swallowing to try to quell his shaking. He’d brought a pair of swim trunks to change into…but he’d also brought a pair of shorts long enough to conceal his tail completely, just in case. Breathing deeply, he hitched the bag over his shoulder and made his way down to their little camp. Blue and Papyrus waved excitedly as soon as they saw him, and he couldn’t help but smile a little when they did. He didn’t wave back…but he did sketch a lazy salute.

Stretch turned in his chair, smirking as Edge approached. “lookin’ hot, edgelord,” he said, “and by ‘hot’, i mean you’re gonna give yourself heatstroke. leather pants and a motorcycle jacket aren’t exactly beachwear.”

Edge offered Stretch a different kind of salute, despite Blue and Papyrus’ protests. “That’s why I brought a change of clothes, Ashtray,” he said, holding up the bag. “I was hardly going to ride here in shorts.” Despite his outward snark, his soul was sinking. Papyrus was, of course, in a speedo. And he clearly didn’t have a tail, just the coccyx common to all skeletons. Stretch was sitting down, so it was a little harder to tell with him. That was easy enough to fix though.

Coming up behind Stretch, he grabbed hold of the back of his chair and dumped the other skeleton face-first on the ground. “what was that for?” Stretch demanded, spitting sand out of his mouth.

“For letting your brother and Papyrus do all the work. Stop being such a lazybones and help them set up.”

“what about sans?” Stretch asked, standing to brush himself off. He was wearing a bright orange pair of swim trunks, but they were too short to conceal a tail. Edge’s soul felt like it was trying to curl in on himself. “he’s not helping either.”

“Sans,” Edge said, gesturing to the half-buried skeleton, “is clearly doing his part to keep curious humans away from us. I commend his willingness to sacrifice his dignity for our sakes.” Sans grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“yeah. guess i _sand_ shivers down their spines. all i gotta do is say ‘brainzzz’ and wave my arms a bit, and then they run off. _water_ you gonna do, though; guess humans are just weird like that.” Blue and Papyrus both groaned at the terrible puns.

“Oh,” Edge said, hand on his hip. “I thought you were giving them a preview of your comedy act. That would scare anyone away.” Even as he spoke, he was taking a look at Blue. Maybe, since he was from a Swap ‘verse…? But no. No tail.

Sans laughed, unoffended. “hey, if you can’t handle the heat…get off the beach.” With one hand, he flipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. As if he’d said something particularly clever.

Ordinarily, Edge would enjoy verbally sparring with both of them, but right now, it felt like his cervical vertebrae were being squeezed, and he really just needed a minute to pull himself together. He hefted the bag by way of explanation and, gruffly, said, “I’m going to go change. I’ll be back shortly.”

“take your time,” Stretch said, though he was at least helping Blue and Papyrus now. “and untwist your panties while you’re in there, ‘kay?”

“Brother! That is highly inappropriate!”

Edge allowed Blue to defend his honor this once, marching toward the bathrooms. Perhaps Razz or Slim…? He got an answer to that soon enough; by the time he’d finished changing, they’d arrived. Razz stood proudly in his speedo, and even Slim had abandoned the security of his heavy jacket for a tank top and a pair of trunks. And neither of them had tails.

Edge had never felt so alone in his life.

He was instantly glad for his long shorts, their hems brushing the bottom of his patellae. His confidence had been so shaken that he didn’t even take off his tank top. The other skeletons were giving him odd looks, though. None of them could figure out why he would choose to dress even more conservatively than Slim, when Edge was not known to be especially shy. Quite the opposite, really. He took pride in his appearance, and he was known to show off when presented with the opportunity. Edge had no intention of enlightening them, though, and thankfully, no one was stupid enough to ask.

Red was the last to join them, and as soon as he saw his brother—and what he was wearing—he knew what had happened. He flopped down on the beach towel beside Edge and asked, softly, “ya doin’ okay, boss?”

The others were either playing in the water, sleeping, engaged in some kind of pun war, or playing Frisbee. None of them would be able to hear Edge and Red’s conversation. Despite that, Edge just shrugged and said, “I’m fine, runt.”

“ya sure?” Sometimes, Edge hated how observant his brother was. Closing his sockets, he briefly squeezed Red’s hand, then released it and went back to sunning himself. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to drag more out of him, Red kept quiet and simply settled down beside him. Edge took comfort in his presence, even if neither of them spoke. He didn’t feel quite as alone now, with his brother at his side.

 

Edge wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but at some point, he and Sans had started dating. It started, he thought, when Papyrus asked Edge to take Sans to an astronomy exhibition. He’d apparently bought tickets without realizing that he’d already arranged to take a cooking lesson with Blue that day. Edge had been willing enough, and while Sans had been surprised, he’d seemed pleased when Edge asked him.

After that, they’d started to go out just the two of them. They had lunch together, since their workplaces were close enough. They met for movies that neither of their brothers wanted to see. They’d go drinking when life on the surface proved it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Then, suddenly, Sans had taken his hand while they were walking home one night, and it had felt right and natural and _good_. Then, just like that, they were dating.

Looking back, Edge was fairly certain that they’d been set up without either of them realizing it. If he wasn’t so damn happy, he’d have been irritated.

They’d long since progressed past the point of holding hands, and honestly, Edge wanted…more. He was pretty sure Sans did too, but. Something was holding Edge back. The. Fucking. Tail. Honestly, he almost wished that Gas—that it had been amputated when he was small. (Not really. He still treasured it. It was a trophy of a sort. Victory over his maker. Victory over his violent world. A piece of himself preserved because it could serve as a weapon…but never used as such. But it was so _personal_ , so _strange_ …the idea of sharing it with anyone was terrifying.)

Edge was never the type to let fear rule him, though, and he certainly wasn’t going to let it keep him from finally consummating his relationship. Fuck that. So, Edge swallowed down his fear and invited his boyfriend—no matter how many times Sans introduced himself as such, he would not refer to him as his ‘bonefriend’, especially since they hadn’t even boned!—over for dinner. In an effort to settle his nervous soul, he spent the day making sure everything was perfect. He cleaned the house. Twice. Set the table, doing everything short of breaking out a ruler to make sure the place settings were laid out perfectly. The rest of the day he spent in the kitchen, making lasagna and tiramisu. Closer to dinner, he would prepare a green salad as well. The lazybones might be fond of grease, but he needed some greenery in his diet.

Red had, of course, trailed him the entire day and done his level best to prove just how annoying he could be. “what’s the matta, boss?” he asked cheekily, once Edge finally lost his temper. “special occasion? what er ya gonna do? ask ‘im ta marry ya?”

Narrowing his sockets, Edge snapped, “No. I’m going to ask him if he’d like to trade brothers. I’m trying to butter him up in the hopes that he’ll actually accept. Now, go pick up your fucking sock like I asked!” Finally, though, Red was out of the house—bribed with a small stack of bills and permission to go get smashed at Grillby’s—and everything was perfect. Except Edge was a nervous wreck, but that was only to be expected. And Red had left his sock, but that was to be expected too.

He sat on the couch only to stand up again a few minutes later, fingers tugging at his shirtsleeves. Was he dressed too nice? Or not nice enough? Too nice, probably. This was supposed to be an ordinary dinner, after all. With the smallest exception. He wished he could change, but he’d need to—

The doorbell rang. Edge took a breath. Too late now. Looking himself over once more—and concluding that he was _hot_ and it didn’t matter if he was overdressed—he marched across the room and flung open the door. Sans was leaning on the doorjamb, smirking. He opened his mouth and started to say, “heya, gorgeo—“ Then his sockets went wide and he said, more genuinely, “holy crap, edge. you look amazing.” He swallowed, a faint blue blush highlighting his cheekbones.

Edge’s soul relaxed marginally. The anxiety was still there, like an undercurrent beneath still waters, but the sight of his boyfriend eased him. This was Sans, after all, and Sans…Sans loved him. He had nothing to fear here. (That didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous, but at least he wasn’t tempted to jump out the nearest window anymore.) “You’re not so bad yourself,” he observed, raking his gaze over the smaller monster. That only caused the faint blush to deepen, but Sans’ eyelights sharpened and his grin grew fractionally.

It only took Edge a moment to realize that Sans had concluded that Edge must have decided he was ready to take the next step in their relationship. Well, he wasn’t _wrong_ , though the tail would probably still be a surprise. Opening the door wider, Edge invited him inside, saying, “Before we eat, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“uh-oh,” Sans said, faux-nervously—though, perhaps, there was the faintest trace of true nervousness behind his play-acting—“i swear it wasn’t me, babe. musta been some other sans.” He winked.

“That would be funnier if there weren’t actually other Sans-es running around, wreaking havoc. But I digress. It’s nothing you did. It’s…it’s about me. Something I need to tell you before—“ He took a deep breath. “Before this progresses any further. Sit down, please.” He gestured to the couch.

“uh, edge? you’re starting to worry me here.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Edge said, holding up his hands. “It’s just hard to talk about, alright?”

Still concerned, Sans obediently sat and looked up at him. “okay. i’m listening.”

Edge closed his sockets and took a deep breath. (Sans loved him. Sans wouldn’t hurt him. Everything would be fine.) He hadn’t chosen this outfit on a whim. The blazer was long enough that it covered the back of his pelvis, and the pants were old enough that he had been comfortable asking Red to cut a hole in the back for his tail. After carefully threading it through the hole, he’d simply coiled it in the cradle of his pelvis, ignoring the way the tail’s constant flicking teased his sacrum.

Now he relaxed his tail and allowed it to slip out from beneath his shirt and waistcoat. Once free, it whipped behind him embarrassingly, revealing his nervousness. Frowning, Edge caught it and tugged it forward, trying to keep it still. He started to say something, but his throat closed when he saw that Sans had stood up, sockets gone wide as saucers. “Surprise?” Edge said, mentally cursing himself for the weak, wavering quality of his voice.

Sans’ eyelights snapped to his face, his sockets widening impossibly further. “uh. yeah. yep,” he said, looking between Edge and the tail. “that, uh, that sure is a surprise.” Slowly, though, the shock was wearing off to be replaced with something that might have been awe. “it’s really…? that’s really part of you?” Edge nodded, and Sans reached out, then seemed to realize that might be rude. “can i touch it?”

Well. Honestly, Edge hadn’t really expected that. He’d _hoped_ , maybe, for tolerance. Expected a period of adjustment. Been prepared for disgust, though he hadn’t expected that from Sans either. Sans’ curiosity, stripped of anything resembling Ga—clinical detachment, was both welcome and unexpected. “I-I suppose,” he said. “No one’s ever really—“ Not since—But that didn’t bear thinking about. “Be gentle, though. It’s…fragile.”

That proved to be an unnecessary request; when Sans’s phalanges closed over the thin vertebrae, his fingers were careful and his touch light. It. It hit Edge somewhere low in his torso, being handled like that. Like it…like _he_ was something precious. “it’s incredible,” Sans said, but not like he was trying to complement Edge. Like he was stating bald fact. His fingers traced over the flexible vertebrae, then he lightly wrapped his hand around it, giving the tip enough room to flex and twist in his grip. “stars, this is—“ He looked up and released the tail immediately. “sensitive, apparently. uh. whoops?”

Edge, features flushed and breathing unsteady, nodded. “It’s. It’s fine. I didn’t know—“ Shaking his head to clear it, he said, “Sans, please…promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. not without my approval, at least.”

He knew that Sans hated making promises, but this was important to him, and he needed the reassurance. Thankfully, Sans just grinned up at him. “ ‘course i promise, edge. it’s not like anyone would believe me anyway—talk about a tall tale!”

Edge facepalmed, but he had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from grinning. “I knew that one was coming,” he said eventually, “I didn’t know when or where or how, but I knew it was coming.”

Sans leaned back, hands in his pockets. “so? are we gonna eat? or do you have any other appendages you’d like to introduce me to?” He eyed Edge suggestively as he said the latter.

Smirking, Edge tugged him close. “Maybe later,” he said, “If you’re good during dinner.” Then he leaned down and kissed the smaller skeleton. His tail curled possessively around Sans’ ribcage as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for segment 1: Dehumanizing treatment, needles, threat of amputation, implied abuse. Gaster being a dick, really.
> 
> Triggers for segment 2: Implied abuse. Mostly it's angst and hurt/comfort, though.
> 
> Triggers for segment 3: Bullying. (It's pretty bad, honestly, but it still falls under the "kids are cruel" trope.) UF!Flowey is a dick, until he isn't. 
> 
> Triggers for segments 4: Just some minor body consciousness and angst, with some comfort.
> 
> Triggers for segment 5: Kedgeup, if cross-universal Sans/Papyrus is not your thing. Mild references to sex.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously, guys. Why does everything I touch turn to angst?


	4. [RESET]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for Rocklife and an anon. Though, honestly, I don't think I actually answered either of your guys' prompts, really. I'll have more to say in the endnotes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Flowey POV. Underswap AU. Reset angst. Mild spicyhoney. Damn it, Flowey, this is why we can't have nice things. Flowey straddles the fourth wall. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Uh. Implied torture? But nothing on-screen. (I am disturbed by how often I have to tag 'torture' in my fics.)

Flowey popped up beside Papyrus to ogle the small black box cradled in his phalanges. “Howdy, Papy~!” he greeted cheerily, nearly vibrating with excitement. Today was the day! “Oh, wowie! Is that it?” He leaned close, leaves brushing the sides of the box. Papyrus obligingly extended his hand and lifted the lid so Flowey could examine the ring inside. A yellow plastic body supported a comically large, ruby-red piece of candy, cut to look like a gemstone.

“yep,” Papy said, absently toying with his hoodie strings. “think edge’ll go for it?”

Delicately, Flowey hooked a vine through the ring and brought it to his face, tilting it left and right so the Underground’s artificial light caught on the “gem’s” facets. “Of course he will!” Flowey said, “He loves you!”

As a matter of fact, Flowey knew _exactly_ how everything would play out. Papyrus—or ‘Stretch’, as the other skeletons called him—would have everything ready by now. For a self-described ‘lazybones’, Stretch could be dedicated and detail-oriented when properly motivated. From searching out the perfect spot—a secluded outlook in Waterfall, with the best view of both the waterways and the stars overhead—to gathering everything for their picnic—fresh fruits and chocolate spread, cheese and Muffet’s freshly baked bread, and a real rarity: a bottle of sparkling wine—Stretch had made sure that everything would meet his partner’s exacting standards. The spot he’d chosen really was perfect, and though Edge was a finicky eater, Stretch knew how to cater to his tastes. This was important to him, and he didn’t want to mess it up. The ring was the only outlier, a concession to Stretch’s anxiety. He’d chosen a candy ring, rather than a real one, so that he could play everything off like an elaborate joke if Edge said ‘no’.

Flowey knew he wouldn’t, though.

At the end of their date, when Stretch finally summoned up the courage to pull the ring out of his hoodie pocket and present it to Edge, Edge would eye it and him skeptically. His features would relax into an expression that was _almost_ a smile. But not quite. He’d be trying to hide his excitement, his joy—afraid that this was just a joke. He’d be trying to play cool, even as his soul trembled. “What’s this?” he’d ask, taking the ring and eyeing his boyfriend. “Too much work for the lazybones to get a real ring?”

Flowey would have to cover his mouth at that point to keep himself from laughing with excitement and joy. He loved this part. It was the best part, his _favorite_ part. “nah,” Stretch would say, leaning in and touching Edge’s jawbone lightly. “just thought you deserved a ring as sweet as you are~.”

Edge would stare at him. Then, voice flat, he’d say, “You know, I believe the terrible pick-up lines are supposed to end once the dating starts. In fact, I’m quite certain that’s how it’s supposed to work. Did you not read that section of the handbook?”

Stretch’s grin would grow even broader. “is that a yes~?” Though his voice would be teasing, his phalanges would tremble and his eyelights would grow bright. Even knowing exactly how things would progress, Flowey wouldn’t be able to help but vibrate with sympathetic anxiety. No matter how many times he played this run, part of him was always afraid that the ending might be different this time. (Afraid, yes, but excited too. New things were always _so_ exciting.)

Now Edge would pull away slightly, always prepared for the worst…but ever-hoping for the best. “Is this…?” He’d look between the box and his partner. “Is this a joke?” Before Stretch’s hopes could collapse in on themselves, though, he’d say, “Because toying with my feelings isn’t funny, you jack—“

Then Stretch would swoop in and catch his hands between his own. The humor would have drained from his features, and he’d allow the hope and the fear that he’d been hiding to shine through. Stars! Flowey _adored_ that kind of naked vulnerability! It was wonderful—particularly from a monster like Papyrus. “it‘s not a joke, edgelord. i want. i want you. not just for today, but for tomorrow too. and the next day. and the next. i want to be with you for all your tomorrows, and i want you to be with me for mine.” He’d swallow nervously and shift onto one knee. “if. if you’ll have me, that is.” And the speech! Ah, that was his other favorite part! If only for the _delicious_ irony.

Edge would stare at him, flabbergasted and flushed a soft red with his magic. “I DO. I-I mean. Yes. Yes, I’ll— Yes!” After that, there’d be kissing, and they’d disappear in a pulse of magic. Flowey didn’t care about that part, though. He just loved watching them interact—the way their expressions would shift and change, their banter, how they were both so intensely afraid to love the other…but willing, in the end, to face that fear. Stars, it was _wonderful_.

Flowey would forever be grateful for whatever had brought the two edgy skeletons to this softer universe. Papyrus had always been his favorite; having a _second_ Papyrus practically drop into his lap had been like a gift, like the stars had finally granted him a cure for his boredom. It was endlessly entertaining, watching those two interact. More so because there were so many ways their relationship could play out.

It was easy enough to put the two of them in a bad mood prior to their first meeting. Easy enough to keep their tensions running high. Then, without much more than an occasional nudge from him, they’d be at each other’s throats. Hate at ‘first’ sight, as it were. Those runs were fun. Watching them clash and fight and snap at each other, but remain unable, in the end, to resist the other’s draw. It was awful and self-destructive and _beautiful_ to witness. Watching them tear each other apart was almost as much fun as doing it himself, when he was in one of his moods.

However, it was nice, sometimes, to let a ‘sweet’ run play out. With the right preparations and the proper handling, they could click together instantly. Those runs were almost so saccharine they were sickening. It wasn’t one of his preferred runs. Everything was just a little too sweet, a little too easy for Flowey’s tastes. But, every once in a while, when something had gotten to him—or if he felt something that might, in another lifetime, have been guilt for a particularly bad run—it was satisfying to allow them that bit of sweetness.

This was his absolute favorite run, though, even if it required very little interference from him—almost demanded, in fact, that he remain hands off. The way they sniped and snapped at each other when they met. How that fire would shift slowly, kindling a new emotion. Neither purely cruel, nor purely sweet, but possessing the best elements of both runs. He _loved_ this run. So he couldn’t resist replaying it. Over. And over. And over again.

Stretch smiled down at him, tucking the jewelry box close to his chest. “thanks, pal,” he said, “i, uh, i don’t know if…. i mean, i guess i’m just—“ He took a breath and scratched the back of his skull. “i just wanted to let you know, i appreciate that you’ve been here for me. it makes everything easier.”

Beaming up at him, Flowey twirled his petals a little, blushing happily. “Of course!” he chirped, “What are friends for, right?” Biting down on a phalange—a nervous habit the trashbag hadn’t been able to break him of—Stretch nodded, sockets closed. It looked like he was steeling himself, mentally preparing for his date with Edge. Sidling up close, Flowey brushed his petals against Stretch’s shoulder. “You can do it!” he said cheerily, “Don’t worry; he’ll say yes! You two were meant to be together. I know it!” Actually, as far as he knew, that was the truth. No matter what he did, no matter how he played the run, these two were always drawn to each other. It wasn’t always a happy arrangement—and sometimes one Papyrus or the other would briefly engage with the other’s Sans—but in the end, they always came together, even if it ended badly.

“thanks,” Stretch said, standing. “i, uh, i should probably get going. you know how edge is—if i say our date’s at four, then i better be ready to go at three, right?”

“Good luck!” Flowey said, waving as he walked off. As Papyrus disappeared around the corner, a brief bit of melancholy washed over the flower. Yes, this was one of his favorite runs, and he was honestly sad to see it end. He’d reset shortly after the proposal. The interesting part was over, after all; he had no interest in what came next. Already, he was wondering what he’d do for his next run.

He was not prepared for the lattice of bones that suddenly surrounded him. He wasn’t really afraid or surprised, though. Mostly, he was just annoyed. The trashbag had caught on to his game. Grumbling under his breath, he lashed out with a vine, shattering the bones. A rapid series of attacks struck him in the face— **[RESET]** —He dodged a rapid series of attacks aimed at his face, glaring at the small, smiling skeleton all the while. Eyelights twinkling a brilliant blue, the trashbag said, “I thought I detected an anomaly.”

Dodging the last bone, Flowey took his turn—whipping the small sentry with vines and razor-edged leaves. The trashbag was _almost_ as good at dodging as Flowey himself—better, if he was being honest, since he didn’t have Flowey’s unique abilities—and managed to get away with only a few minor hits. He was fortunate he didn’t share the _other_ trashbag’s handicap, or he’d already be dust. (That was the one bad thing about suddenly finding himself blessed with two Papyrus-es. They each had a trashbag dragging them down. How _tedious_.)

“So you’re one of Papy’s friends, huh?” he asked cheerfully, as if he wasn’t busy ducking around writhing vines. He took a moment, when Flowey’s turn was over, to survey the flower. Still grinning. To the uninitiated, he probably looked sweet and innocent— _cute_ , even. His bubbly demeanor had certainly fooled Flowey. For a little while, at least. “Funny,” the trashbag said, bouncing on his toes as he readied himself for his turn, “I thought Papy was telling one of his jokes, when he said he’d been talking to a flower.”

An intimidating skull appeared in front of Flowey, it’s maw opening wide to— **[RESET]** —An intimidating skull appeared in front of Flowey, and he ducked to the side to dodge the beam of magic it fired. Another appeared and he— **[RESET]** —he dodged to the side, prepared this time for the next shot and the next and the next. Teeth grit and game face on, Flowey snarled wordlessly at the infuriating trashbag. Who just smiled back at him, even as Flowey rained petal-bullets down on him.

How many times had he heard this speech, exactly? Or a variant of it? The trashbag had no right to call _him_ an anomaly. The small skeleton was the real freak! Everyone else was consistent. Constant. Press button A, and they did action X. The joy was in figuring them out, tearing them apart—literally and metaphorically—to find the right sequence of buttons to press to get the reactions he wanted. And if he made a mistake, so what? He could always—

**[RESET]**

—He ducked to dodge the bones suddenly tossed his way. It wasn’t even the trashbag’s turn! No fair! The trashbag was always spoiling things for him. Always making things that should have been easy. So. Difficult. “So, are you?” the trashbag asked, something sharper in his skeletal grin now, “Friends with my little brother? Because, if you are, I have to say, I’m disappointed. I thought Papy had higher standards than that.”

He raised a hand, and bones rose up from the ground in a wave. Flowey ducked and dodged and wove through the— **[RESET]** —wove through the attacks. The words didn’t hurt. Flowey didn’t have a soul, so he couldn’t be hurt by words or experience anything like guilt or fear or-or _anything_! So the trashbag’s words didn’t hurt him. They didn’t. And if Flowey’s next round of attacks were especially vicious, it was because he was angry, that’s all. (He most especially wasn’t hurt, knowing what the trashbag would say next. That was ridiculous.)

“What kind of monster are you, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.” More freaky dog-skulls appeared in a ring, firing off in a randomized pattern. Flowey had to— **[RESET]** —work hard to dodge them all. “All the monsters I know are made of goodness and kindness and love,” the trashbag said, neatly ducking a whipping vine. Flowey did manage to hit him with a petal-bullet, though. “I’ve certainly never met a monster that would _willfully_ hurt someone he calls ‘friend’, like you are.”

Unable to stop himself, Flowey said, “I’m not hurting him!” Oh. Poop. The trashbag’s grin only grew broader.

“Really? You don’t think so?” he challenged, raising a hand to summon a series of bone attacks that—

**[RESET]**

**[RESET]**

**[RESET]**

**[RESET!!]**

—were nearly impossible to dodge, but Flowey managed. Panting a little, the trashbag glared at him, though he never dropped his grin. “I certainly think _pretending_ to be someone’s friend for your own amusement qualifies as ‘hurting’ them. So does manipulating a person to achieve your own ends. And I know that dangling the chance for happiness in front of them and snatching it away. Again. And again. And again!” He punctuated each ‘again’ with a strike from a bone club that Flowey just. Couldn’t dodge. He didn’t even bother to try. “Definitely counts as hurting them. Even if they can’t remember it.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d played this run too many times in close succession. The timelines matched too closely, and the _freak_ was able to piece together that something was off. Usually, he had his own script to follow; he didn’t seem to remember the events of timelines past either. Sometimes, though, Flowey screwed up, and the trashbag started to retain his memories.

The solution was simple, really. All Flowey had to do was retire this game for a little while. Put his toys on the shelf and give them a break. Maybe take down another set, a less favored set, if he was really bored. Then, in time, the trashbag would start to forget again, would dismiss the flashbacks as nothing more than déjà vu or the remnants of nightmares. Then, Flowey could play with his favorites again.

He knew this. He’d had to do it before, and all in all, it would only cost him a little time. And what was time to a creature like him? He had time in spades. The problem was, he would be bored. And Flowey hated being bored. Hated it. Well. He was going to reset anyway, right? He may as well exact a little revenge on the smiley trashbag. The skeleton couldn’t dodge forever, after all, and it had been a while since Flowey had really allowed himself to break some bones. Grinning, Flowey stretched to his full height and flexed his vines, encircling the small skeleton.

This run was ruined, but he’d make the best of it, at least.

 

**[RESET]**

 

Sans woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat and body _aching_. Blue tears tracked down his face, staining his cheekbones. Without a word, he leapt out of bed and rushed down the hall to his brother’s room. “Papy,” he croaked weakly, and Papyrus was awake immediately. Ordinarily, Sans would feel terrible about disturbing his brother’s rest. He knew how hard it was for Papyrus to sleep at night, but he also knew that Papyrus would never turn him away when he was in need.

“heya, bro? wassa matter?” he asked sleepily. “did you have a nightmare?” Sans nodded mutely. “do you? do you want to sleep in here?” This time, he didn’t bother nodding. He just bounded over and dived beneath the covers, curling up beside his younger—but bigger—brother. Papyrus rubbed his back. “do you wanna talk about it, bro?” He shook his head and just _clung_. “ ‘kay.” For a while, they both lay there, silent and sleepless. Then, quietly, Papyrus suggested, “you wanna work on the machine?”

Sans sniffed, thinking about it. It would certainly get his mind off his nightmare. Though, something was nagging at him. Something about the machine. Brows furrowed, he tried to remember…but it slipped from him. Closing his sockets, though, he…he had a good feeling about it. “We’re going to fix it soon,” he announced suddenly, sitting up. The thought—more of an amorphous feeling, really—galvanized him. “Yeah. Let’s go work on it!”

Papyrus sat up and stretched. (Stretch…? Why was that important? Why was—?) “you got it, bro. let’s get that hunk of junk up and running.” He paused suddenly and snickered to himself.

“What—? Papy, no.”

Papyrus grinned. “i was just hoping it wouldn’t run too fast for us to catch."

Sans sighed deeply. “Why are you like this?”

“aw, bro, c’mon. you know you love me.”

(More than he would ever realize.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here are the prompts I was given:
> 
> "A swap bros story with the twist that blue is the older bro (my preferred interpretation as I think it adds a layer of maturity to his character and makes him less child-ish. I don't care about the plot, just that it uses this aspect to reflect upon their relationship and blue's maturity and character overall; despite what some may think upon seeing him, there's a surprising layer of depth there just like rus."--From Rocklife
> 
> "spicyhoney - edge and stretch had been dating for maybe a year and a half and edge is like ready for like the next step so stretch like gets ready to propose (he proposes with one of those candy rings) and hes set up everything really nice and stuff, (wherever they are is up to you) and hes in the middle of saying, ''edge will you marry-'' everything resets"--From the anon.
> 
> So. Here's the deal, guys. There are two fics out there that _beautifully_ answer these prompts (or capture the tone, in the case of the anon's prompt--I'm almost certain this is not the kind of angst the anon was expecting). And I just. I can't top these fics. So, here are the links:
> 
> [A Little Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648748/chapters/26205309) by SansyFresh
> 
> [Static Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878278) by idontevenknowugh
> 
> (Though, honestly, if you're reading my stuff, you are probably already well aware of both of these stories.)
> 
> So, yeah. Sorry Rocklife and anon--I know I didn't really answer your prompts exactly, but I hope you don't mind if I used them as inspiration for this piece.


	5. The girl next door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one requested this. This is just me being incredibly goofy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Multiuniverse shenanigans. On the surface. Stretch POV. Stretch. Red. Slim. Red has a crush. It doesn't end well for him. 
> 
> Triggers: Mild sexual humor.

“what are you looking at?” Stretch asked, stepping out onto the front porch. The overhang shielded him from the sun, which was unreasonably bright and hot for the first day of October. Then again, he was still adjusting to living in a place with actual seasons—and unpredictable seasons at that.

“heh. check it out~.” Red, leaning on the porch railing, jerked his chin toward the house across the street.

Stretch withheld a sigh. He had no idea what Red saw in the girl—woman, really—across the street. She seemed pretty ordinary to him and, while not _unappealing_ , certainly nothing particularly special. “are you seriously perving on the—“ His sockets went wide. “holy—!” Swallowing tightly, he dug into his pocket to fetch a cigarette. After lighting it, he asked, voice strangled, “how long has—?” He gestured loosely. “ _that_ been going on?”

Red grinned salaciously, still watching the woman across the street. She wasn’t dressed particularly provocatively. Conceding to the unseasonable heat, she’d worn a pair of shorts and a tank top, but the handkerchief binding her hair and the smears of dirt and grit on her face and arms demonstrated that she was not trying to impress anyone. The dusty boxes scattered across her front yard, all of them spilling over with black and orange, revealed why she was bedecked in cobwebs and old dust. Smirking, Red said, “ ‘bout half an hour. seems our boy’s got some stamina~.” He cackled. “she’s startin’ ta get frustrated.”

“stars above, red, don’t say it like _that_ , cripes!”

“c’mon, stretch, tell me it don’ look like—“

“i know what it looks like!” he snapped, then sighed. He glanced up at the woman, watching as she hefted the plastic skeleton up. Currently, she had her thigh pressed against the skeleton’s pelvis, one hand gripping the spine carelessly. The other hand was, apparently, trying to wrestle a shirt up and over the skeleton’s ribcage. “fuck,” he said under his breath, looking away to take a drag off his cigarette. “what’s she doing anyway?”

Red shrugged, still smirking. “puttin’ on one helluva show~.”

“asgore’s fucking horns, red—“

“alright, alright. she’s been dressin’ an’ undressin’ mr.bonezone over there. i think she’s tryna pick a costume fer halloween.”

“by the angel _, why?!_ ” All the other humans were perfectly happy to decorate their houses with naked skeletons! Which, yes, was incredibly awkward, but this was so much worse.

Red started to reply, but Slim had appeared in the doorway, apparently curious. “heya, slim. check it out!”

“stars, red, will you stop calling attention to it! cripes, she probably doesn’t even realize—“ Slim sidled up beside Red, brow-bones rising as he watched the poor woman continue to struggle with the plastic skeleton. Now she had him— _it, dammit!_ —draped over her shoulders, so its arms dangled down her back while she gripped the lumbar spine with one hand and tried to drag the skeleton’s pants off with the other. It was not an easy process, and Stretch could faintly hear her cussing out her partner. Slim just surveyed the scene silently for a few seconds. Then he whistled. Both Fell monsters leaned against the bannister, staring at her. “she’s going to see you guys,” Stretch told them, “and then she’s going to think you’re both creeps.”

“heh. don’ pretend yer not watchin’ too, tale-verse. yer enjoyin’ this jus’ as much as us; we’re jus’ more honest ‘bout it.”

“you’re just _creepier_ about it!” Stretch snapped back, glancing back at the woman. “holy fucking—!” He covered his mouth, swallowing down the rest of that sentence. The skeleton was naked now, and she had her fingers hooked through the pelvis— _like it was fucking_ nothing _to her, holy shit!_ —and another hand wrapped around the skeleton’s cervical vertebrae. Almost against his will, he found himself gravitating toward the bannister. “why’s she doing this?” he asked, voice strained. “no one else felt the need to _publically molest_ their halloween decorations!”

Red shrugged, but Slim replied crisply, “cultural sensitivity.”

“ _the fuck do you mean, ‘cultural sensitivity’?”_

Red, however, got it immediately. He started laughing—so hard that he had to use the bannister to support himself. “cultural—heh heh he he! she didn’ wanna offend us, stretch! holy—oh, stars, i can’t, i _can’t_ —!”

Stretch facepalmed, not sure if he should start laughing or crying. Slim glanced at him and offered him his infamously enigmatic smile, patting him on the shoulder with a wink. That did not make it better.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud crack, and all three skeletons looked up. Red immediately went still, the magic draining from his features to leave him looking even paler than usual. “stars on fire,” he said hoarsely. Stretch looked between him and the woman, starting to grin.

Across the street, the woman—now holding two _halves_ of a plastic skeleton—yelled, “DAMMIT!” at the top of her voice. She dropped the top half of the skeleton and glared down at it, tucking the skeleton’s legs under her arm. More quietly, but still loud enough to be heard clearly across the street, she said, “Well. Fuck.”

“nyeh heh heh. what’s the matter, red? thought you’d be happy. looks like she just broke up with her last bonefriend.”

Red turned to him, about to reply, when Slim vaulted the bannister and started across the street, hands tucked into his pockets and sucker in his mouth. “hey!” Red called, starting to recover, “where’re ya goin’?” Slim turned to face them, then jerked a thumb behind him, at the woman.

Stretch raised a brow-bone. “man. you’ve got some weird fucking kinks.”

“there’s another kind?” Slim asked, deadpan. Still smiling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...what do you mean you don't dress your skeleton up for Halloween. You let him go naked? How lewd.
> 
> While I wish I could say no skeletons were harmed in the making of this oneshot, I'm afraid that this was based on a true story, with comedic magical skeletons added BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS BETTER WITH COMEDIC MAGICAL SKELETONS. So, yeah, that might be my author-avatar molesting/abusing her plastic skeleton. On the bright side, _half_ a skeleton is way creepier than a whole skeleton. My decorations are gonna rock this year.


	6. Seeds of affection, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has contracted a particularly lethal strain of puppy love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Papyrus-centric. Some Undyne & Alphys. Honeyblossom. Edgepuff. Spicyhoney. Socially awkward Papyrus-es. (Extremely) Awkward conversations. Cooking lessons. Stupid sexy Papyrus-es. Mild angst.
> 
> Trigger warning: Secondhand embarrassment. Body horror. Very mild sexual content.

It started rather innocently.

Blue wasn’t back from training with Alphys yet, and Papyrus had arrived a little early to the Swap brothers’ house for their planned hang-out. Stretch was polite enough to let him in and told him to make himself at home. Which should have been pretty easy, since their home mirrored his own. “THANK YOU, LAZY-ME!” he said brightly, but once he was inside, Papyrus realized that he had never actually been alone with Stretch before. Blue or Sans or both were typically around, and with a start, Papyrus realized he had no idea what to say or how to act around Stretch on his own.

He started toying with the ends of his scarf when Stretch looked over at him and asked, “you want something to drink?”

“YES, PLEASE!” he said, grateful to know the answer to that question. Then Stretch kept staring at him, and he realized that the question required a little more from him than that. Twirling the ends of his scarf around the ends of his phalanges, he said, “UM. DO YOU HAVE MILK?”

Stretch smiled, eyelights sparking. “we should. ‘less blue drank it all.” Then he ducked into the kitchen, and Papyrus looked around himself, wondering if he should sit down or if he should stay standing. Stretch told him to make himself at home, right? So…would it be rude to keep standing? Or would it be rude to sit down without a direct invitation? He wasn’t sure. For a moment, he wished that Sans was with him, if only to act as a social buffer or to offer a sense of security.

Before Stretch returned, he forced his chin up and reminded himself that he was the Great Papyrus and he could most certainly handle a bit of conversation! After all, hadn’t he managed to convince the captain of the royal guard that he deserved extra special training? He was a strong, capable, intelligent skeleton; he could do this!

Stretch reappeared with a glass of milk in hand, and he presented it to Papyrus. Unfortunately, Papyrus’ phalanges had gotten tangled in the ends of his scarf, so when he went to reach for the glass, he managed to choke himself. “HRK!” It jostled the glass, and milk spilled over both their hands. “OH—! I’M SORRY! LET ME—“ Papyrus ran from the living room to the kitchen to fetch a dishtowel.

Stretch, meanwhile, was chuckling. “no rush,” he called, “no use crying over spilt milk, right?”

Papyrus groaned aloud, grabbing a dishtowel before storming back into the living room. “YOU’RE AS BAD AS SANS!” he scolded, “MILK CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO SIMPLY SIT! IT WILL SOUR VERY QUICKLY, AND NOTHING STINKS QUITE LIKE SOUR MI—“ Suddenly, in the midst of scrubbing the milk from Stretch’s hands, he realized that maybe it wasn’t entirely appropriate to scold someone he really only knew tangentially. He looked up at his alternate, not entirely sure what to say or do at this juncture.

Thankfully, Stretch didn’t seem offended. He grinned broadly in response and lightly knuckled the top of Papyrus’ head. “you need to learn how to relax, kiddo.” Leaning forward, Stretch winked and added, “maybe i can show you, sometime?”

Papyrus swallowed, cheekbones heating. He straightened quickly—so quickly he almost knocked the cup of milk entirely out of Stretch’s hand—and announced, loudly, “I’LLTAKETHATUNDERCONSIDERATIONLAZY-ME. THANKYOU!” Then he quickly left to wring out the dishtowel.

By the time he’d returned, Stretch was seated on the couch, cup of milk set on the coffee table in front of the space beside him. It was an obvious invitation, but even so, Papyrus hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he was misreading the situation somehow…? He knew, after all, that he wasn’t always good at reading social cues. He knew he laughed too loud and spoke too loud and said things that were embarrassing or socially inappropriate. He knew that, and he knew that by bulling ahead, as he so often did, he sometimes made things worse rather than better. But—

_(“don’t sweat it, bro. if they can’t like you for who you are, then they aren’t worth your time, got it?” Blue and yellow magic sparked in the depths of an otherwise empty socket, even as supporting arms enfolded the larger monster.)_

—Papyrus didn’t know how to be someone else, and at this stage in his life, he was done trying. So he grinned broadly and said, “WHY THANK YOU, LAZY-ME! HOW KIND OF YOU TO SAVE ME A SEAT!”

Stretch, holding a coffee mug, chuckled quietly. He looked around himself and asked, “what am i saving it from?” he joked, “are we under attack?”

Taking his seat, Papyrus rolled his eyelights. “JOKE IF YOU MUST, LAZY-ME. BUT YOUR KINDNESS HAS BEEN NOTED AND SHALL BE REPAID—IT IS THE LEAST THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CAN DO!”

“that so?” Stretch asked, a slight teasing note in his voice, “any idea how you might go about that?”

Papyrus swallowed. “I. UM. I HAVEN’T HAD THE CHANCE TO GIVE IT MUCH THOUGHT.” Sitting up a little straighter, he said, with uplifted finger, “BUT MARK MY WORDS, IT WILL BE, UH, VERY KIND! AND-AND VERY GREAT!” He resisted the urge to squirm, but Stretch’s amused chuckle soothed him a bit. Over the years, it had become remarkably easy to determine when someone was laughing at his expense and when they were genuinely amused—even charmed—by his antics. Stretch’s laughter fell solidly into the latter category, and it caused something inside of him to unknot.

Unfortunately, now Stretch was looking at him, and he had no idea what to say. Something amusing, surely, but-but _Sans_ was the comedian, not him! Before he could start to work himself up again, he mentally reviewed some of the earliest chapters of his dating book—the early chapters focused primarily on building comfortable comradery, and could be most useful even in platonic situations—and remembered that one of the fundamental lessons was on discussing topics both parties in a conversation could relate to. So. All he had to do was find something in common with Stretch. Oh, well that was _easy_.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE BEING A PAPYRUS?”

It wasn’t until Stretch choked on his coffee that Papyrus realized that probably wasn’t an acceptable topic of conversation. Stretch set the coffee mug on the table and leaned forward, rolling the mug between his hands. His expressions and many of his mannerisms were very reminiscent of Sans…but Papyrus’ gaze caught on that fidgety movement, and he recognized a shadow of his own nervous energy. He relaxed marginally, recognizing that, perhaps, Stretch’s own responses hadn’t been entirely socially appropriate either. “it’s, uh, okay?” Stretch said, looking up at him, phalanges still toying with the coffee mug, “hard to sleep at night, but i can reach the top shelf without a stepping stool. that’s pretty cool.”

“YES! BEING TALL IS-IS QUITE NICE. AND NOT SLEEPING ISN’T SO BAD. IT MEANS YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO THINK!” He stopped, realizing that wasn’t always a good thing. A shared look revealed that Stretch knew already and understood. “OR- _OR_ ,” he said, trying to salvage this conversation topic, “YOU CAN MAKE PLANS FOR TOMORROW! OR DESIGN NEW PUZZLES! THERE ARE MANY THINGS YOU CAN DO WHEN SLEEP WON’T COME AND THE DARKNESS ENCROACHES! SOMETIMES, I READ THE DICTIONARY.”

“heh, i’m not nearly so productive,” Stretch said, “i usually just stare at the ceiling and wish i could sleep.”

“OH.”

The silence stretched between them, and Papyrus looked around, trying to find something to—“hey, uh, papyrus—cripes, that’s still weird—you’ve been training with your undyne, right?”

Papyrus brightened immediately. “OH, YES! THE CAPTAIN HAS BEEN TRAINING ME FOR A WHILE NOW!”

“she teach you anything new?”

Genuinely eager and excited, Papyrus latched onto the topic and ran with it. He talked about the different grappling holds and magic attacks and techniques Undyne had taught him. That transitioned into their cooking lessons and then, somehow, the two Papyrus-es were talking about movies they’d recently watched. By the time Blue ran in, breathless and apologizing for his tardiness, Papyrus and Stretch were talked comfortably and animatedly, barely a handspan of space between them.

Blue ran up the stairs, saying that he just had to shower and change, then they could commence their hang-out! And, though Papyrus was still excited for his ‘playdate’—to use Sans’ teasing term—with Blue, he was honestly a little disappointed that he couldn’t keep talking with Stretch. It seemed Stretch felt the same.

“hey, can i see your phone?”

Obediantly, Papyrus passed his phone over. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“programming my number in. next time you can’t sleep, why don’t you give me a call? chances are, i’m not sleeping either.”

“I.” He swallowed and took back the phone. “THANK YOU, LAZY-ME. I WILL.”

His soul felt warm and full.

 

His first one-on-one interaction with Edge was not half as innocent.

Papyrus was busy in the kitchen, preparing for their multiuniversal get together later that night—and hoping that, maybe, he’d be able to get Stretch alone for a few minutes—when Edge suddenly walked in. Seeing him, Papyrus froze. He was early. Very early. “EDGY-ME!” he said, trying not to squeak. Edge was. Well. Uh. ‘Intense.’ Yes. That was a…nice word to describe Edge. “YOU’RE HERE EARLY! TO WHAT DO I OWE THE—“

“What the hell are you doing?” Edge demanded, looking him up and down.

Papyrus tried not to squirm under his scrutiny, suddenly very aware of the tomato seeds and juice spattered across his face and the sweater he was wearing. “I’M MAKING SPAGHETTI,” Papyrus said brightly, then frowning, added, “AND I REALLY WISH YOU WOULDN’T USE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE.” Not when he was in Papyrus’ home, at least. He could say and do whatever he wanted in his own universe, but the rules were different here.

Edge ignored the chastisement and came to stand beside him, surveying the graveyard of smashed tomatoes. Edge did not look impressed. “That’s not how you make spaghetti.”

Papyrus withheld a sigh. Edge could be…overbearing. One might even say ‘pushy’. It required a bit of patience to deal with him sometimes, and though Papyrus was a fairly patient monster, he wasn’t sure he had the patience for this. “EDGY-ME, I THINK I KNOW HOW—“

“Undyne taught you?”

Smiling a little more forcefully now, Papyrus said, a little too brightly, “YES! SO I THINK I CAN—“

“Undyne can’t cook for shit. Here, let me show you.” Then, suddenly, Edge was much closer—very nearly touching him. “First of all, let’s clean this _mess_ ,” he said, wiping off the cutting board. “I can’t stand a filthy work area,” he muttered under his breath. Then he pulled the box of tomatoes over and, after verifying that they’d been washed, said, “These should be roasted. It will make them easier to peel and bring out their flavor. Do you have olive oil?”

Feeling a little off kilter, Papyrus gestured to the olive oil, and watched at Edge grabbed a roasting pan and lined it with foil. Then he took a knife and deftly sliced a number of tomatoes neatly in half. After that, he set them facedown on the foil. His hands were swift and sure. Capable. Confident.

Papyrus swallowed, a little intimidated by his duplicate’s surety. Then, suddenly, Edge speared him with a look and held the knife, handle-first, out to him. “Now you,” he said.

Trying to hide his hesitance, Papyrus took the knife and mimicked Edge’s movements, overly conscious of Edge—standing just behind him and watching his every move with a critical eye. “Very good,” Edge said after a few minutes, startling Papyrus. His rumbling voice was pitched low and soft, almost like a purr, and he was shockingly close to Papyrus’ acoustic meatus, leaning over him to get a better look at the cutting board. The praise and the tone—and the other monster’s proximity—were causing Papyrus’ soul to heat uncomfortably.

Hoping Edge hadn’t noticed his shaking hands, Papyrus laid the rest of the tomatoes in the roasting pan. Edge peeled a few garlic cloves and set them in the pan as well, drizzling olive oil over everything before putting the pan under the broiler to roast. “Now, while that’s roasting, we dice the onion,” he announced, grabbing an onion from the vegetable bin.

Again, his movements were swift and sure. Elegant. Papyrus swallowed, feeling magic starting to pool in his mouth. Why was he trying to form a tongue right _now_? This was completely ridiculous; there wasn’t anything to eat yet, and he couldn’t be—

His gaze fixed on Edge’s graceful phalanges, taking note of the way he held the knife, the careful way he worked the blade. Oh. Well. That explained it, he supposed. “Slice the onion evenly,” he said, his rasping voice almost hypnotic, “Like this.” He planted the onion half facedown, then neatly and swiftly ran the blade through the flesh perpendicular to the board. “The root stays on for now. See how everything holds together? Good. Now, make three slices parallel to the cutting surface. Like this.”

Papyrus nodded, unable to look away. Edge made it look so easy. As effortless as breathing. Once the cuts were made, he then made more perpendicular slices, getting closer and closer to the root of the onion. The result was a pile of neatly diced onion pieces. “Now you,” Edge said again, passing him the blade and the other half of the onion.

Taking a shaky breath, Papyrus tried his best to copy Edge’s movements. He wasn’t as swift or a sure, and his pile wasn’t as evenly diced. Nevertheless, Edge surveyed his work with a fierce grin and said, “Very good.” Again, his tone nearly made Papyrus shiver, and he had to swallow down the magic that had gathered in his mouth once more. “I think the tomatoes are ready,” Edge said, turning way. Unbidden, Papyrus’ gaze dropped to his hips, though he forced himself to look away as soon as he realized what he was doing. A brilliant orange flush colored his cheekbones as the magic rushed to his face.

Still not looking at him, Edge bent to retrieve the roasting pan from the oven. “After we get the sauce started, I’ll teach you how to make the noodles. You have flour and eggs?” Papyrus only managed to nod in response. “Good. I suppose a pasta maker is too much to ask, but you have a rolling pin, I’m sure. We’ll just do it the old fashioned way, I suppose.”

“O-OKAY.” Stars, Papyrus wasn’t sure he could take much more of this. His soul already felt like it was going to burst.

 

Papyrus took pains to at least _try_ to like everyone. Even Jerry was…tolerable. In small doses. (Very small doses.) It was becoming increasingly obvious that he didn’t just _like_ Edge and Stretch, though. He wanted them. Sexually and romantically. More than that—worse than that—he wanted to be wanted by them. Even though he knew they thought of him like a friend—Edge might prefer the term ‘ally’, but he really meant ‘friend’—or like a younger brother. And no matter how he tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that he was happy enough just to have them each as friends, his soul _ached_ with the desire to be wanted in the same way he wanted them.

No. Really. His soul hurt. He’d really noticed it for the first time when they arranged to have a movie night—just the Papyrus-es. Of course, Stretch and Edge had almost immediately started bickering, as usual, and as was typical for Edge, things took a turn for the physical. He’d grabbed Stretch by the collar of his hoodie and snarled at him. Papyrus, aware that Edge didn’t have the intent to do any harm to their alternate, wasn’t entirely sure if he should interfere or just let the two of them work things out amongst themselves.

Then, unexpectedly, Stretch had smirked and stepped into Edge’s hold, planting his hands on Edge’s exposed iliac crests. “you know, edgelord,” Stretch said, “if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was say so. though i do appreciate your—“ He grinned broadly. “—passion.”

Papyrus choked, his entire body going rigid. Edge reacted much the same; his sockets went wide and he sputtered wordlessly for a few seconds, obviously not sure how to respond to this behavior. It obviously wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “I—“ He tightened his hold on Stretch and tried snarling more fiercely. “The hell do you think you’re doing, Swapshit?”

Behind the lazy grin, Stretch’s expression was just as fierce. “teaching you some manners,” he said. His phalanges skated over Edge’s iliac crests, causing Edge to redden and squirm. Too stunned to speak, Papyrus leaned against the doorjamb, knees pressed together. His soul felt hot and heavy.

Recovering a little, Edge snapped, “Molesting unwilling monsters is hardly _mannerly_.”

“unwilling?” Stretch challenged, pressing his thigh into Edge’s pelvis. “you sure about that?”

Edge cursed, transferring his grip to Stretch’s shoulders. It looked like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to push Stretch away or pull him closer. By now, Papyrus was flushed a vibrant orange, and he was wringing his hands, still not sure what to do.

“Unhand me,” Edge finally said, a little breathless. He didn’t sound nearly as confident or as sure of himself anymore.

“heh. i don’t know, edgelord. you’ve got a real hold on me,” Stretch said pointedly.

“n-O!” Papyrus cleared his throat. “NO!” he said, more clearly this time, “NO MORE OF THAT! THERE WILL BE NO-NO _FIGHTING_ IN THIS HOUSE!” Yes. ‘Fighting’. He’d pretend that’s what they’d been doing.

They separated immediately, and even Stretch blushed a pretty orange. As if they’d…they’d forgotten that Papyrus was there at all. Something inside him twisted painfully. Edge crossed his arms and looked away, while Stretch scratched the back of his neck. “sorry, paps,” he said. When Edge remained silent, Stretch elbowed him sharply.

Glaring at Stretch, Edge cleared his throat. When he spoke, though, he was looking at Papyrus, and he did look genuinely contrite. “My apologies. That was…inappropriate.” The sincerity quickly faded from his gaze as he added under his breath, “Even if I was hardly the one at fault….”

“THAT’S PERFECTLY ALRIGHT, OTHER-ME’S. WHY DON’T YOU TWO MAKE YOURSELVES COMFORTABLE, AND I’LL, UH, I’LL MAKE SOME POPCORN!” Yes. Popcorn. That should give him at least a few minutes alone to compose himself.

Inside the kitchen, listening to the kernels pop, he tried to shift his attention away from the growing certainty that neither Stretch nor Edge would ever want him. And, no matter how he tried to push the reaction down, to be satisfied with friendship alone…it still hurt. He tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous—after all, wasn’t he the Great Papyrus? There were plenty of other monsters out there. Surely one of them would be delighted to be with a monster such as himself. Right? He’d be fine. It was wonderful just to be friends with them! That’s…that’s all he really needed.

Even if his soul felt like it was lodged in his throat, aching with thwarted desire.

Carefully, he peered around the doorjamb and peeked in on the other two. His mouth went dry immediately, and his soul squeezed. They were eyeing each other with a mix of desire and speculation. Pulling back into the kitchen, he hugged himself, as if he was trying to hold himself together. His ribcage felt tight, like it was being crushed in a vice, and his soul ached. Then, suddenly, he started coughing.

He covered his mouth immediately, of course, and when the coughing fit passed, he pulled his hand away, started to find a small petal—Huh?—resting in the palm of his hand. It was the same color as his magic and looked to be about the size and thickness of a rose petal.

Well. That was. Weird.

The scent of burning popcorn snapped him out of his thoughts, and his hand closed over the petal, crushing it and causing the magic construct to dissipate in a wisp of orange smoke. He rescued the popcorn from the microwave, then dumped the—slightly singed—popcorn in a bowl to share. As he walked into the living room, he noted that they’d seated themselves on opposite sides of the couch. Which meant he would have to sit….

Oh.

His chest tightened and he hurriedly set the popcorn on the table, so he could cough without compromising the food. “you okay?” Stretch asked, sounded worried. Edge too regarded him critically, brow-bones furrowed.

“FI—“ Another bought of coughing struck him, brought on by their concern. Finally, he was able to compose himself enough to say, “FINE. I’M FINE. NOTHING USUAL GOING ON AT ALL!”

Behind his back, he crushed a fistful of orange petals between his fingers.

 

As time passed, the ache only grew worse. At first, it was only apparent when either Stretch or Edge were close at hand, by soon enough, the ache in his soul was a constant companion. It hurt when he got up in the morning. It hurt when he used his magic. It hurt just to breathe. Certainly, maintaining his normal level of energy and enthusiasm was impossible—or it would have been, if he weren’t the Great Papyrus! What was a minor chest cold to one of his caliber?

Even if his soul felt like it was being flayed.

Even if he kept coughing up weird orange petals.

Even if it was getting harder and harder to pretend nothing was wrong, harder just to keep going, day after day.

He forced himself to do just that, though, pressing on like everything was fine. He forced himself to eat a hearty breakfast, even if it only seemed to agitate his soul further. Forced himself to feign his normal cheer as he roused Sans and bullied him into working. He ignored his own growing dread as he realized that today was Tuesday. He had training with Undyne today. Not so long ago, he’d treasured their training sessions, but now…. He forced down his trepidation and headed to Undyne’s house.

It was hell. Unrelenting hell. Every time he drew on his magic, he had to suppress a coughing fit, and it felt like someone was drawing a blade across his soul. All the while, he had to hide it from Undyne, too—what would she think, if she discovered he was sick? She was already obviously hesitant to let him into the royal guard; he wasn’t going to allow something like a petty illness to be the reason she finally refused him! He was the Great Papyrus! He could do this! He was fine! He was—

—not going to be able to hold back the coughing any longer. His hand, held out to guide a wave of bone attacks, dropped and he lost control of his attack. Bending at the waist, he coughed violently into his hand. Soon, the orange petals overflowed his fingers, spilling around him. He dropped to one knee, feeling as if he was hacking up a lung. A lung he didn’t even _have._

“Stars, Papyrus!” Undyne yelped, sounding more panicked than he’d ever heard her. “Are you okay?! Are you hurt? Where are these even—? What are—?” She stared at the petals, totally bewildered. Then she shook it off and knelt beside him, supporting him as he coughed—and as he tried to insist that he was fine. “You are not fine, you big—“ She bit back what was probably going to be an (affectionate) insult. “I’m taking you to Alphys,” she said firmly, once he was finally able to breathe without aggravating his coughing.

“THAT’S NOT NECESSARY, CAPTAIN!” he said, “I’M FINE! THIS IS JUST-JUST A SKELETON THING. YES! THAT’S IT! IT’S A—“ He squeaked a little when Undyne hefted him up and threw him onto her shoulder.

“ ‘Fine’ my scaly blue ass,” she snapped, ignoring his shocked exclamation at her language. Really, though, was that entirely appropriate? She was a role model! There could be striped-shirts listening! “I’m taking you to Alphys, and you’re going to do _exactly_ what she says. Consider that an order, Trainee. You understand me?!”

He froze and stopped trying to free himself from her grip. Then, with a sigh, he went limp and said, “Yes, Captain.”

“Good!”

It was almost a relief, he thought, not having to hide it from her. He’d been hiding it for weeks now. From Edge and Stretch. From Sans. From—well, _everyone_. The pressure to keep it secret had weighed on him, and now that someone else knew…well, a lot of that pressure was gone. “Undyne?” he asked, voice small. She turned slightly to try to get a look at him, but the angles did not work in her favor.

“Yeah?” she asked, “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm. I just…. Thank you,” he said softly, tapping the tip of one distal phalange against another.

She sighed and redistributed his weight a little. “Papyrus…don’t you dare hide something like this from me again,” she said sharply, “or I’ll suplex your lily-white—“

“LANGUAGE!”

“—pelvic girdle.”

He was fairly certain that Undyne considered suplexing someone to be an acceptable form of greeting, but he understood her meaning. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” she snapped. He flinched. Then, a few minutes later, she added, “…I was worried about you.” He flinched again, and she sighed, patting his lumbar spine soothingly. “Just. Don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay.”

They finished the rest of the walk in silence. By the time they reached Alphys’ lab, Undyne was starting to flag, her impressive stamina sapped by the dry heat of Hotland. Truth to tell, Papyrus wasn’t too keen on the rather oppressive environment either, but he certainly wasn’t going to try to protest. He did offer to walk, promising he wouldn’t try to escape, but Undyne refused to set him down. Not until Alphys opened the door and fluttered nervously on seeing them—wringing her hands and stuttering even more than usual.

“O-oh! U-u-u-undyne! I-I wasn’t—I wasn’t ex-expecting you! C-can I get y-you s-s-something t-to drink?”

“Is the tank free?” she asked, setting Papyrus on his feet.

“Y-y-yes?”

“Good. I’ll be in there while you give him—“ She jerked a thumb in Papyrus’ direction. “—an exam. He’s been coughing up _these_ all morning.”

A protest caught in Papyrus’ throat when she produced a small handful of orange petals. It felt strangely invasive for Undyne to have them, let alone for her to casually pass them over to Alphys for study. “A-a-are these? P-p-petals?”

“You got me, doc,” Undyne said, “That’s why I brought him to you; you’re the expert on things like this, right?” Alphys flushed a brilliant red, even as Undyne started down the hall. “I expect an update when you’re finished with him!”

“O-o-of c-course! I-I—“ But Undyne was gone. “O-okay th-then.” She pushed her glasses up on her snout and gestured for Papyrus to follow her into the elevator. “W-why do-don’t you come w-w-with me? A-and we can-can talk a-about th-th-these.” She hefted the petals.

Papyrus eyed the elevator. He suppressed a shiver and pushed down an unwanted memory. “YOU KNOW WHAT? DO YOU HAVE A BREAK ROOM? OR SOMETHING A LITTLE LESS…LAB-ISH?”

Alphys blinked, then flushed a deeper red. Nevertheless, she nodded and led him to another room. It was simple enough—just a table and chairs, a coffee maker, and a few cabinets. A poster on the wall had a picture of a cat hanging from a tree branch. ‘Hang in there!’ it said encouragingly. Seeing it, Papyrus’ chest swelled—yes, he would hang in there! And he could only hope that the cat had eventually received help from a fireman. And maybe that it had been returned to a loving owner. Or that the helpful fireman had adopted it, if it didn’t already have—

“S-s-so w-why don’t you t-t-tell me ab-about, um, y-your problem?” Alphys said as she guided him to a chair. Turning away from the cat poster, Papyrus started to relate his experiences. Alphys interrupted a few times, asking a few pointed questions, and Papyrus did his best to answer. Every so often, Papyrus had to turn away to cough, and by the time the interview was over, it became obvious that Undyne hadn’t really needed to gather any petals; there was a fresh pile on the table in front of him. Alphys poked at them with the tip of her pen a few times, taking notes as a line appeared between her brows.

“O-okay,” she said, chewing on the end of her pen. “I-I think I kn-know what’s wr-wrong. B-but j-just to b-be s-s-sure. I-I, um, I n-need t-to s-s-see y-your…um…y-your….” She fell silent.

“MY WHAT?” he asked once Alphys had paused long enough that it didn’t seem like she was going to complete that thought.

“Um.” Alphys lifted up her clipboard until it covered most of her face. “Y-y-your. Um.” Her voice was a little muffled, since she was talking into the clipboard. “Y-y-your.” Then, so fast he almost couldn’t understand her, she said, “INEEDTOSEEYOURSOUL!” He blinked, and just as he was gearing up to demand she say that again, she squeaked and defensively raised the clipboard even higher. All he could see of her was her foremost crest. “I-it’s n-n-nothing, um…i-inappropriate. I s-s-swear! I-it’s it’s p-purely diagnostic.” Peeking out from behind the clipboard, she said, “P-please? I j-j-just need t-to be s-s-sure.”

He looked at the pile of petals, then looked at the floor. He pushed down the feelings of betrayal. Alphys wasn’t like…the previous royal scientist. Things were different now. Besides, Undyne wouldn’t have brought him here if she didn’t trust Alphys…and Papyrus trusted Undyne with his life. With his _brother’s_ life. Sighing, Papyrus held a hand in front of his ribcage and tried to summon his soul. Then furrowed his brows when the soul failed to appear in his cupped hand. He’d felt it manifest, but it felt…stuck in his ribcage. That. That wasn’t right.

Alphys gasped and dropped her clipboard with an abbreviated, “O-oh my!” Papyrus tried to get a better look, but he couldn’t really make sense of what he was seeing. Then Alphys said, “H-here!” and pushed a cell phone into his hands. “J-just flip th-the camera a-a-around.” Obediently, Papyrus flipped the camera, then angled it so that he could see into his ribcage more readily. Across the table, Alphys had retrieved the clipboard and was furiously scribbling notes and muttering under her breath. He thought he heard her say ‘friendfiction’ and ‘Hanahaki’, but he really wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at his soul. Or. What his soul had become. His throat tightened and he very nearly dropped the phone. Instead, he set it down and took a deep breath. When he was somewhat more composed and properly braced, he took a second look.

His soul, glowing orange with active magic, didn’t even look like a soul anymore. The inverted heart was _peeling_ _apart_. It. It looked like a particularly broad-petaled chrysanthemum—the ‘flesh’ of his soul peeled back to form the petals. Worse, deep orange roots grew from the base of the ‘flower head’, branching out and grasping at his ribcage and spine. The roots had burrowed through the cortical bone and into the marrow underneath. He inhaled sharply, trying to hold in a scream—and barely managed it when the ‘petals’ swayed as air was drawn into his mangled soul.

“A-alphys?” he asked, voice wavering. “W-what’s wrong with me?”

She swallowed and gently lowered his hand, so he couldn’t see the cell phone’s screen anymore. He could still see the orange glow emanating from his chest, though, and it was causing his bones to pulse hot and cold in flashes as his magic nodes rapidly gathered and dispelled his combat magic. He had to force himself to blink a few times and tried to remember how to breathe—forcing himself not to think about the act of drawing air into his soul and how it would be…fluttering…in response. “W-well,” she began, hands clasped tightly together, “I-it’s call-called Hanahaki Di-disease. I-I didn’t think it-it was m-more than-than legend, honestly. A p-plot device f-for…um.” She squeaked a little and blurted out, “R-romance stories!”

“Romance stories?!” he asked, completely blindsided. There wasn’t anything romantic about this! His soul was splitting apart piece by piece! _He’d been coughing up pieces of his own soul!_ “HOW IS THIS ROMANTIC?” he demanded, scooping up a bunch of petals.

“W-well,” she said slowly, squirming under his gaze, “I-it’s n-not. It’s more…more a r-reason f-for a ch-character t-to confess th-their…their love. T-to another ch-character.”

“WHAT?!” He still didn’t understand.

She swallowed. “The f-flowers…th-they grow i-in a p-person’s l-lungs, a-and s-split th-their soul as-as a re-result of-of…unrequited o-or unconfessed love.”

With a kind of detached horror, he thought suddenly of Edge’s deft hands—and imagined them neatly cutting into his soul, forming thin slices and peeling them away from the center to shape Papyrus’ soul into a perfect, beautiful flower. A beautiful, _horrifying_ flower.

“Oh,” he said.

And to think, this had all started so innocently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought my summary was a joke, didn't you?
> 
> Here was the original prompt:
> 
> "UT Papyrus ends up contracting the Hanahaki Disease for not one, but two monsters. And they're both himself from different universes. (Extra points of Edge and Stretch are in a relationship!!) Aka papcest between Stretch, Edge, and Papyrus with plenty of angst thrown in and the possibility of our favorite skeleton dying because he has no idea how to confess!"
> 
> Once again, I'm fairly certain I failed to actually address the prompt, but hopefully operosus doesn't mind. I had to look up Hanahaki disease, since I'd never encountered it in fiction before. I don't actually know how it's normally used either, so this might be extremely off the wall. I don't know. (Sorry if you're disappointed.) 
> 
> I'm 99.9% sure that I'm going to continue this...but I haven't quite decided how I'd like everything to go, so feel free to let me know how you might want this to play out in the comments below. I've got a few of my own ideas, but inspiration is always appreciated.
> 
> I apologize to anyone that's waiting for an update to 'Bone Shards', too. I am working on it...but I have a weakness for body horror, and this prompt has been preying on my mind for a while now.


	7. That seems like a bit of a stretch....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for SansyFresh from my blog for Short Story Weekend.
> 
> I'll give you the prompt at the end--I'm curious to see how many of you can pick out the sentence without peeking at the endnotes. (Hint: It's a line of dialogue.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: Humor, fluff, Spicyhoney
> 
> Warning for mention of drug use, and altered mental states. Mild sexual tension.

For once, Edge actually felt…at ease. He was reclined on the Swapbrothers’ couch, limbs loose and sockets half-lidded. A movie played on in the background, but he wasn’t watching it. Honestly, he was just soaking in the relaxed atmosphere. Why didn’t he come to Underswap more often? His brother was over often enough, and more than eager to drag him here, if only to abandon him almost immediately. Why didn’t he—

A body dropped onto his own, appearing literally from nowhere. Edge stifled a startled yelp and lashed out, catching the other monster’s wrists in his hands and rolling both of them off the couch. They landed hard, but Edge was on top, so he had the advantage. He slammed the other monster’s hands against the floor and used his legs to keep…the obnoxious version of himself pinned to the floor….

Edge growled, but released his grip on the other skeleton’s hands. “I could have killed you!” he snapped, glad that he hadn’t put any killing intent into his defensive maneuvering.

“heh. heya, edgelord. forgot you were here,” Stretch said, trying to sit up. Unfortunately, Edge was still sitting on him, so when he did, it brought them into an awkward configuration. Pelvises pressed together and close enough to kiss. Edge made a strangled sound, trying to scramble off, but Stretch just draped his arms over Edge’s shoulders and leaned his chin on Edge’s collarbone. “hi~.”

Edge, arms held stiffly out to either side, was busy trying to process what was even happening here. “Ugh,” he said, trying and failing to pull away from the clingy skeleton. “You reek. Are you high?”

“heh. yep.” He hummed cheerfully and nuzzled closer. “your universe may be a shithole, but fuck if it doesn’t have the best weed.”

Sighing, Edge pressed a knuckle against his nasal ridge. He couldn’t even get mad a Stretch for ‘corrupting’ his brother. It appeared that this was all Red’s doing. He’d have to have a talk with the runt after they returned home. “I’m so happy to hear that my universe is good for something. Now, would you get off of me?”

“mmm…nah. you’re comfy.”

Sockets closed, Edge counted backward from ten in his head. Reminding himself that any ill intent on his part would likely kill the other monster, and being  _annoying_  was not a crime worthy of death. “Yes,” Edge said wryly, “I am widely renowned for being soft and cuddly. It’s the metal armor, I think.”

Stretch started laughing. Edge didn’t ask, didn’t want to know, but Stretch shared his thoughts anyway. “th-that’s wh-why they call you the-the  _great and cuddly papyrus_!” He laughed raucously and curled even closer, a few errant ‘nyeh heh hehs’ slipping from him.

“Stars,” Edge muttered under his breath, “that’s not even remotely funny.”

Then, all at once, Stretch stopped laughing and sat straight up. “hey. hey! you know? you know what we should do?”

“Part ways and never speak of this again.” If only Edge could be so lucky.

“no.  _no_. no. we should—“ He started chuckling again. “—we should got to Muffet’s!”

“…Why would I ever want to go with you to Muffet’s?” Edge almost facepalmed. Why did he even ask? Why was he dignifying any of this by replying?

Stretch pulled back and firmly planted his hands on either side of Edge’s face. Small hearts danced in his eyelights. “because,” Stretch said, leaning close and whispering as if he was imparting one of the great secrets of the world, “because, muffet makes the best donuts in the multiverse.”

Edge rolled his eyes and tried to pull away—unsuccessfully. “It’s—“

“ _in the multiverse_!” Stretch whisper-hissed.

Peeling the other monster’s hands off his face, Edge said, firmly, “It’s midnight. We’re not getting donuts. Besides, you’re not fit to be out in public.”

“but! edgelord!”

Edge blinked, brow-bone creeping up. “Are you trying to use puppy-dog eyelights on me?”

“…is it working?”

Covering his sockets, Edge sighed. “Fine. Let me up and we can go get donuts.” Under his breath, he added a few choice words. Stretch grinned broadly and—oh. Oh, that smile actually hit him low and hard. Magic gathered in his mandible, but he forced it down. He could do nothing to force it from his cheekbones, though.

Then Stretch wrapped his arms around him and said, “carry me!”

Okay. Well, thank the stars he was an idiot or that could have gone very badly. The Great and Terrible Papyrus refused to succumb to something as undignified as infatuation. Rolling his eyelights, Edge stood, carrying the other monster as if he were a koala. He kicked open the door, dropped Stretch in the snow, and went back into the house. Settling onto the couch again, Edge sighed, pleased to have peace and quiet once more. Then the same weed-scented body dropped onto him. This time, of course, he was also slightly damp and dripping with snow. “Stars on fire!” Edge snapped, “Can’t you just go sleep it off in your own room? Why must you pester  _me_!? Go harass someone else!”

“blue and red are sleeping,” he said, shrugging slightly, “and i can’t.”

Edge looked up at him, noticing the tense set of Stretch’s shoulders and the way he kept fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. Features set in a neutral expression, Edge silently wondered what it might be like, being unable to sleep while also lacking the motivation to make use of those quiet hours. Or the energy. Because Stretch looked tired. Very tired. Perhaps he’d even taken the weed, hoping it might relax him enough to drop off. Obviously, that hadn’t worked as expected.

Repressing a sigh, Edge said, “Why don’t you watch a movie with me, then?” Stretch beamed at him again, and Edge’s soul pulsed in response. Damn it. He did not need this. But as they rearranged themselves–try as he might, he could not convince Stretch to stop clinging–Edge reflected that it was…kind of nice. Being so close to someone he knew wasn’t going to try to kill him as soon he turned his back.

Now, if only Stretch didn’t reek of weed and cigarettes, this could actually be considered almost…pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicyhoney, "It's midnight. We're not getting donuts."


	8. C'mon, it's practically canon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphyne fluff for an anon, from my Short Story Weekend.

Undyne ducked her head and shook out her hair—it wasn’t truly hair, but the shorthand descriptor was close enough—flexing her gills. There was a visceral kind of pleasure in this, being fully submerged after walking about on land for so long, particularly after walking even a short distance through the dry air of Hotland. She opened her eyes, though the protective membrane over her eyes remained. She grinned fiercely, meeting Alphys’ gaze beyond the tank’s glass. With a powerful kick, she lunged up and out of the water, ready to grab the lizard up and pull her in. Then she froze, seeing the magazine Alphys had clutched between her hands.

“Is that—?” She gripped the tank’s edge, peering hard at the other monster.

“T-the n-next B-b-batman comic?” Despite her stutter, Alphys had her chin up and a broad grin stretched across her features. Proud of herself. Then she blushed and ducked her head, fiddling with the buttons on her labcoat. “I-I can p-p-put it w-with y-y-your armor,” she said, “Y-you c-can take i-i-it with you, w-when you—“

“Are you kidding?! We’ve been looking for that comic for _months_! I’m not waiting until I get home to read it!”

Alphys looked between the paper pages and Undyne’s wet hands. “Um. Uh.”

Undyne leaned her elbows on the edge of the tank. “Read it to me,” she demanded.

Alphys blinked. “B-but what-what a-about…?” Undyne just gazed back at her steadily, unblinking.

She knew that Alphys was self-conscious about her stutter, knew what the other monster was asking, but she feigned ignorance and instead asked, “Well? What are you waiting for, punk? Pull up a chair and start reading!”

The order got Alphys moving, her self-consciousness forgotten or at least set aside for the time being. Soon enough, they were engrossed in the story, Undyne leaning over the tank’s glass walls to look at the comic panels. All too soon, the comic was over, and Undyne couldn’t help but deflate a little. They could never be sure when—or if—the next comic in the sequence would fall down.

Then Alphys was looking at her, and Undyne perked up instantly. “Life on the surface sounds so exciting! Bad guys to punch! Evil plans to foil!” She restrained a roar, legs kicking and earfins flexing. “AH! I CAN’T WAIT!”

Alphys, staring at her with wide eyes, just looked away and rubbed her upper arm. “R-right.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

“W-what?”

“Superhero. Who’s your favorite?” Undyne asked.

“Oh. Um. I-I actually like M-mr. Freeze.” Her tail curled forward, hugging her leg.

“Alphys, your favorite superhero can’t be a villain.”

Alphys’ cheeks flushed, but she lifted her chin and her small hands balled into fists, nostrils flaring. “H-he’s n-not a _v-villain!_ H-he’s j-just _misunderstood_.” She then launched into a diatribe about the virtues of Mr. Freeze, ignoring a good deal of established continuity along the way. And the fact that he did a great deal of unsavory things to avenge his wife. Undyne settled down to listen, a dopey smile on her face. Watching Alphys get worked up like this was always a treat. She was so passionate. So sure of herself and her convictions. Undyne could listen to her go on for _hours_.

Which was a good thing, honestly, because she would. And Undyne would love every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Your favorite superhero can't be a villain." was the prompt.


	9. Live a little, Linda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edgeberry for an anon. Another piece from my Short Story Weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: Edgeberry. Fluff & hurt/comfort. PTA AU.
> 
> Warning: Humans are dicks.

“Edge?”

“What is it, pipsqueak?” Edge was a little preoccupied, sockets narrowed in concentration as he piped melted chocolate onto the sugar cookies. ‘R.I.P.’ He grinned victoriously and sat back; that was the last one. They needed one ‘tombstone’ for every graveyard cupcake, and he needed to start on the trees before the chocolate solidified. Mentally, he listed out the other cookies and treats that they needed to prepare for their booth, figuring out what they should start working on next, now that the oven was free again. Probably spider-chip cookies, and after that, they could work on the gingerdead men—

“Thank you for helping with this,” Blue said, shaping the rice cereal and marshmallow mix into ghosts.

Edge snorted, laying down a sheet of wax paper. “As if I’d pass up the chance to put _Linda_ in her place.” His mouth curled into a sneer as he piped chocolate onto the paper, layering it until it looked like a leafless, skeletal tree. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “who made that bitch queen of the PTA?” He could still hear her now, asking Blue if he wasn’t _offended_ by the representation of his ‘people’. As if she gave a damn whether or not monsters found Halloween offensive—she was the one that thought the monster children should have their own _bathrooms_. She just wanted to manipulate the board into canceling the Halloween Festival because she thought it was ‘unwholesome’. Blue had managed to talk everyone into having a ‘Harvest Festival’ instead, but Linda was still doing her best to strip all the fun out of it.

Well. Not so long as Edge was around. He set the tray of chocolate trees to the side and scooped up a bowl of chocolate frosting. He set it down beside Blue, but froze when he saw the tense set of Blue’s jaw and the squinted look of his sockets. Brow-bones furrowed, Edge pressed the back of his hand to Blue’s forehead. “Are you ill?” he asked, “I swear, if you’ve been handling food while you’re sick, I will—“

“No! No, I-I’m not sick, I swear!”

“Oh? Then what’s wrong?

“I—“ He shook his head a little and grinned brightly. “Nothing! It’s just a little warm in here, that’s all.” Then, humming cheerfully, he returned his attention to the ghosts.

Edge crossed his arms and glared down at him. “Bullshit.”

Blue’s sockets went wide. “Edge! Watch your—“

The taller skeleton scooped him up and sat him on a clear section of counter. “I keep my language clean when I’m at work.” Well. Relatively clean. “In my off hours, I’m going to cuss as much as it pleases me. Now—what’s wrong?”

Blue sighed and wilted a little, likely realizing it was futile trying to hide anything from the keen eyes of a Fell monster. Particularly this Fell monster. “I just.” He rubbed self-consciously at his arm. “I didn’t think it would be like this. That’s all.” Edge cocked his head slightly in question, not understanding. “You know,” Blue said, “the Surface. It’s not…it’s not how I thought it would be.”

Leaning forward, Edge examined him critically, wondering whose ass he would have to kick. “Did something happen?”

Blue’s shoulders curled inward. “Um. When I was at the store, getting supplies for all of this. One of Chara’s friends ran up to say ‘hi’. So, I was talking to her, and…then her mother came over. I introduced myself, and she just—“ He inhaled sharply, trying to force a smile. “Nothing. It was—“

“Blue.”

The smaller monster looked up at him, holding his gaze for a breath, then he crumpled, folding in on himself. “She…she looked at me like I was—“ _(Gutter-trash.)_ “—dirty.” He tried to smile weakly. “See? Nothing. Just. Just the way she looked at me. I’m just being-being overly sensitive. She didn’t really. She couldn’t have—“ Blue looked up at him plaintively, and Edge carefully cupped his cheekbones.

“Aside from a little frosting right here—“ He lightly touched a skeletal kiss to Blue’s forehead. “—you’re the furthest from dirty a person could be.” He stroked a thumb over Blue’s cheekbone. “Now, what was this woman’s name?”

“Edge, no.” But he was starting to smile again, genuinely this time.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. Poorly. “I just want to have a little talk with her, that’s all.”

Blue giggled, but shook his head. “ _No_. Just, frost the _damn_ cupcakes—“ He started laughing a little harder, delighted by his daring language use. “—and forget I said anything!”

In response, Edge smiled…but behind the smile, his soul ached. He would never truly miss his time Underground, but sometimes, he did miss how easy it was to solve some of his problems. A demonstration of his strength. A little dust-shed. A few well-placed threats. Problem solved. (That was a lie, and the best parts of himself knew it. Violence had never solved any of his problems—not for long, at least.) “Fine, pipsqueak. But you need to make me a promise.”

“Hmm?”

“You won’t try to keep all this _stuff_ —“ Blue giggled again, amused by his self-censorship. “—to yourself.”

He smiled, and there was only a slight trace of melancholy in his expression. “Promise.”

“Good boy,” Edge rumbled and leaned in to kiss him properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just frost the damn cupcakes."
> 
> ...seriously, guys, I'm so pleased with this one. And I absolutely want to do more with Fell!PTA. It just has so much potential.


	10. Red is best bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Platonic floofyhoodies for an anon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Platonic floofyhoodies. …hurt/comfort? Fluff? Angst? I honestly don’t even know what this qualifies as. It’s frustrating, more than anything. (And, yeah, this one’s pretty much canon for ‘Broken Bones’.)
> 
> Warning: References to abuse. Denial.

Ordinarily, Slim and Red got along just fine. They possessed a level of understanding that enabled Slim to talk without talking, and both of them were typically respectful of the other’s boundaries. Unfortunately, on occasion, Red seemed to forget that they were the same age, and he tried to play older brother. This wasn’t so bad when he was sharing food or ‘covertly’—Red was not half as subtle as he thought he was—checking up on him…but it was another matter entirely when Red starting in on his relationship with Razz.

It wasn’t any of Red’s business what went on between the Swapfell brothers. He didn’t understand. _Couldn’t_ understand. So he needed to shut the _fuck_ up and leave it alone. Once he grabbed hold of the topic, though, Red had a tendency to worry away at it—like a dog with a bone. (Heh.) He just didn’t know when to stop, and this was, unfortunately one of those times.

Red glared at him and opened his mouth again—about to say something about Razz abusing him, about Slim not deserving that kind of treatment—but Slim just stuffed his earbuds in his ears and cranked up the music, looking away from the smaller skeleton entirely. Utterly done with this conversation. Over the thrumming music, he thought he heard Red say, “oh, yeah, real mature!”

Just for that, Slim hooked his fingers through his eye sockets and conjured a tongue, only so he could have the pleasure of sticking it out at Red. Rolling his eyes, Red grabbed for his earbuds’ cord. Glaring down at him, Slim caught his hand and growled, “if you pull out my earphones, i’m gonna show you a real bad time, bud.”

They remained like that for a while: each glaring at the other, magic flaring from their sockets. Neither willing to back down. Finally, Red huffed and sat back, arms crossed and gaze focused on some spot in the distance. Slowly, Slim leaned against the wall and allowed his sockets to drift shut. The music echoed through his skull, the heavy beat sinking into his soul. Against his will, his anger started to fade. He knew Red meant well. He just wished…. He wished Red could see the better parts of Razz. That’s all. He fiddled with his hoodie sleeve, slipping a hand inside to run his claws over the scars on his ulna. He cracked open a socket, glancing at Red. The other monster was tracing idle patterns on the floor, shoulders drooped and limbs loose. Not angry anymore either, then.

Slim shut his sockets again. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his anger. Not entirely. But he did sigh loudly and made a show of pulling one earbud from his acoustic meatus. Red glanced up at him, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “heh.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “guess i shoulda held my tongue, huh?” Slim gave him a look. He’d have to do better than that. “ ‘s hard, though. bein’ tight-lipped. what with not havin’ any lips, ya know.” Slim cracked a smile, try though he might to keep a straight face. “ ‘s easy enough bein’ closed-mouthed, though, so i really don’ have an excuse.”

Slim shook his head, but he was smiling now. Emboldened, Red scooted closer, knocking his shoulder against Slim’s side. “ ‘m, uh, ‘m sorry. fer talkin’ bad ‘bout yer bro. i know how ya feel ‘bout that. ‘s jus’…i hate the way he—“ Slim growled in warning, and Red huffed. “fine. fine. jus’…ya know, ya’ve got a place ta go. if ya ever need it. fer _any_ reason. ‘kay?” Red looked up at him. “we cool?” Studying him through narrowed sockets, Slim dug into his pocket and pulled out a pair of suckers. He unpeeled one and popped it in his mouth, then held out the other. Red reached for it, but Slim yanked it back before he could connect. Red rolled his eyes. “right, i get it—‘m a sucker. are ya done?”

For a few moments, Slim held his gaze, then he nodded slowly. He held out his fist, and they bumped. He offered the sucker again, this time allowing Red to snatch it from his fingers. “don’t pull that shit again.”

“sure, bro. so long as ya remember what i said.” Slim rolled his eyelights and reclined against the wall at his back, waving his hand in affirmation and dismissal both. Nevertheless, he had to confess…he felt a certain degree of comfort, knowing that he had options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you pull out my earphones, I'll [insert threat here]."
> 
> This was the perfect prompt for these two, and I'm so happy that anon asked for it. : )


	11. You're hurting yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Spicyhoney for Cheapbourbon.
> 
>  **READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS!** This is a rough one, guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> Tags: Spicyhoney. Heavy angst. Hurt/comfort. I’m using Bourbon’s nicknames, so Rus is Swap Pap.
> 
> Warning for **self-destructive behaviors**.

Rus guided Edge away from the sink. “you need to stop,” he said firmly, “you’re hurting yourself.”

Edge tried to growl at him, tried to summon his customary waspish attitude. He even went so far as to snap, “The only thing I need is for you to mind your own fucking business.” But his soul simply wasn’t in it, or Rus couldn’t have dragged him away. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, Edge was obviously exhausted; his head was bowed, his eyelights were dim, and he’d dropped out of his normally rigid posture, slouching like a Swap-verse Papyrus.

Rus might have left him to it if it was just a matter of working himself to exhaustion, but at some point—most likely while Rus was out on sentry duty—the idiot had decided to strip off his gloves before scrubbing the kitchen down with bleach. Now, the corrosive chemical had caused the topmost layer of bone to start flaking off. Rus couldn’t even look at Edge’s hands. It made his soul twist and his own bones ache in sympathy.

So, despite Edge’s admittedly weak protests, Rus guided him to the bathroom and stripped him out of his bleach-stained clothes. He turned on the shower, checking the temperature before pushing Edge—gently—inside. Edge reached for the knob, but Rus blocked him and shook his head. “no,” he said, not allowing any room for negotiation. He didn’t leave the room, knowing that he needed to make sure Edge didn’t wear his bone down to the marrow trying to scrub off imaginary dust.

He’d known this was going to be a bad episode when Edge appeared on his doorstep, his LV up by 2. Now, he cursed himself for leaving the other monster alone for as long as he had. He’d thought he was getting better, had thought he’d be okay for a few hours…but he’d been wrong, and Edge had paid for that miscalculation.

When Edge had washed off the corrosive chemicals, Rus pulled him from the shower and wrapped him in a soft towel, wiping the beads of water from his bones. “I can do it myself,” Edge protested.

Rus looked up at him, carefully patting his hands dry. “i know,” he said, smiling gently, “i want to do it.” Edge looked away, blushing, while Rus knelt to finish drying his bones. His hands were gentle and loving, but stripped of anything sexual, regardless of the other’s nudity. When Rus judged him to be sufficiently dry, he pushed a soft shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants on him, then teleported both of them to the bedroom. Edge allowed himself to be guided onto the bed and bundled in a warm, soft blanket.

“…Rus…” he started to protest, but Rus just pulled him into his lap and ran his fingers over Edge’s coronal suture.

“rest, edgelord.” He trailed his hand down Edge’s skull and scratched at his mandibular fossa, earning a faint groan. He smiled slightly, knowing how much Edge liked that. “you need it.”

Edge’s sockets drooped to half-mast, and he pressed into Rus’ hand. “Why’re ya doin’ this?” he murmured, his accent starting to bleed into his speech as exhaustion overtook him.

Laying down beside him, Rus pulled him close and touched his teeth lightly to Edge’s forehead. “doing what, precious?” Edge shivered a little at the nickname. He didn’t typically like pet-names, but he had a weakness for that one.

“This,” he said, gesturing loosely.

“what? making sure my bonefriend—“ Edge rolled his eyelights at the term. “—doesn’t work himself down to the bone?”

“Yer not allowed ta make more’n one bone pun per sentence,” Edge muttered. “If yer gonna be obnoxious, you can at least be creatively obnoxious.”

Rus ignored the chastisement to stroke his thumbs over Edge’s cheekbones, then ran his phalanges down to Edge’s occipital bone, scratching lightly. A small, pleased sound escaped the scarred skeleton, though he tried to hold it back. His head fell forward, granting Rus access, and he took immediate advantage—running his fingers rhythmically over the back of Edge’s cervical vertebrae. “someone’s gotta look after you,” he said eventually.

“I don’ need—“

Rus’ jaw tightened, and he growled, “when was the last time you actually ate something? or slept? and don’t even get me started on what you did to your hands.” He released a shaky breath when Edge flinched a little. More gently, he said, “look…you nap, i’ll stay awake this time. ‘kay?”

Edge folded in on himself and whispered into Rus’ sternum, “…I see ‘em. Every time I close my eyes. All the…the people I’ve….” His breathing hitched, and his whole body shuddered.

Taking a deep breath, Rus could only run a soothing hand down Edge’s back and hold him close. Letting him know that he was there. He wrapped a hand around Edge’s ribcage and pulled him in. “i know,” he said softly. It was all he could say. Any comforting platitudes he might offer would only ring hollow and untrue. “just. try and relax. focus on me, on this. i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”

Edge nodded and leaned into him, his body finally starting to lose some of the gathered tension. Rus just held him and murmured soothingly, giving the other skeleton something solid to cling to. It took a while, but eventually, slowly, Edge’s exhaustion got the better of him, and he slept.

As he’d said, Rus stayed awake. Keeping watch over his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You nap. I'll stay awake."


	12. A more interesting challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edgeberry for cupcakes-with-filling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: Edgeberry. Fluff. Special surprise pairing at the end.
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol use.

Blue flitted around the party, making sure his guests were all happy and comfortable, that everyone had a plate of food and a drink, or knew where to find one or the other. He also had to make sure the Tale-verse guard captains were playing nice with the Fell-verse skeletons. The two of them had an overprotective streak a mile wide, and he didn’t want any fighting tonight. Slim and Red were on his list too, since the two of them kept trying to spike the punch. Though, there was plenty of alcohol and a variety of condiments to go around, so why they insisted on contaminating the one nonalcoholic beverage was completely beyond Blue.

His own brother was flirting with non-Swap Muffet, while both Sans and Papyrus were being hit on by a Tale-verse Grillby. Blue paused briefly when he saw that Swap-verse Grillby—which they’d nick-named Swirlby for convenience—was flirting with Papyrus. The taller skeleton seemed to be in full possession of his faculties, though, so Blue decided to let that sort itself out.

He made a few more circuits of the room, verifying that everything seemed to be progressing fine. This was the first time they’d gathered members from multiple universes together in one place—aside from the skeletons, of course—so they’d all been a little nervous, but…everything seemed to be progressing fine. (Then again, the only Fell monsters present were the Fell and Swapfell skeletons, so that probably had something to do with the evening’s success.)

Figuring he’d satisfied his duties as host, Blue started scanning the party, looking for—his brow-bones furrowed, and his eyelights lost their stars. Where had Edge gotten off to? He wasn’t with any of the other skeletons, or with either version of the King and Queen. Last time Blue had seen him, he’d been chatting with Papyrus’ Undyne, but he wasn’t with her now, so…?

Blue went over to the drinks table and made himself a glass of Tabasco sauce on the rocks—with lime, because he was feeling fancy—and a glass of sriracha for Edge, before he went in search of the other monster. He finally found him out back…with Razz. Neither of them spoke, but there was an unmistakable air of camaraderie between them. Blue hesitated, looking at the glass in his hand and back at the two Fell monsters.

He should…he should leave them to it, he thought, something inside of him twisting painfully. They were better suited to each other anyway, right? They were the only skeletons with any LV, after all, and-and— Blue took a step back, ready to return to the house, when he bumped into non-Swap Asgore. Who apologized, loudly and jovially—and drunkenly, a less-kind segment of Blue’s mind supplied, peeved that his silent escape had been foiled. By the time he was gone, both Fell-monsters were looking at Blue.

Blue cleared his throat and straightened, pasting on a broad smile. For better or worse, he was committed now. “Hi~!” he said cheerfully. “Mind if I join you?”

Raising a brow-bone, Edge said, “It’s your house, pipsqueak.”

That wasn’t _quite_ the warm welcome Blue had wanted…but it wasn’t a refusal either, and Edge wasn’t one to mince his words. If Blue wasn’t welcome, then Edge would have made that clear. Smile a little more relaxed now, he stepped out of the house, holding up the glass of sriracha. “I brought you—“ Then his gaze flicked to Razz, who smiled sardonically. The bottom dropped out of Blue’s non-existent stomach. He could try to pass off his glass of Tabasco as a drink for Razz…but it would be a little like offering caramel to Stretch. Blue cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to the other.

Then, incredibly, Razz had Mercy on him. “I need to go check on the dog. Make sure he’s not humping anyone’s leg.”

“Check on the runt while you’re at it.”

“Do I look like a pet-sitter to you? Mind your own.”

Edge only rolled his eyelights. Blue watched the exchange, not entirely sure what to do with himself. Then, as Razz was passing him, the Fell skeleton caught Blue’s elbow and muttered, so soft no one else could possibly overhear, “You get one chance. Fuck this up, and he’s mine.” Then Razz was gone.

The challenge—because it was undoubtedly a challenge—was likely meant to intimidate him. Or to make him nervous. Razz was trying to psyche him out. Well. If that was the case, then Razz didn’t know himself very well. Blue _lived_ for challenges like this! And, silently, he promised himself that Razz would never get the opportunity to try to woo Edge. Smiling brilliantly, he marched forward and passed the glass to Edge. Razz’s words had filled him with determination.

 

Razz glared hard at Swirlby, making the fire elemental visibly nervous. Finally, after several uncomfortable minutes, the elemental excused himself and darted away, likely seeking out easier prey. Papyrus looked down at him with a sigh. “THAT WAS—“

“You owe me twenty G,” Razz said, studying his claws. “They’ll be fucking by the end of the night. Guaranteed.”

Papyrus huffed, gaze darting around before replying quietly, “Razz, please. There’s no need to be crude—and I never took that bet. I only said they’d make a cute couple.”

Razz hummed lightly and hopped up onto the counter so he could peer into the backyard. The mis-matched monsters were drifting closer together even as he watched. The edgelord was actually smiling faintly, and Blue was talking animatedly, eyelights shining with stars. He found he had to agree with Papyrus’ assessment—and his own; they’d definitely be fucking by the end of the night. Seeing where his gaze was directed, Papyrus turned to eye the pair as well, his ever-present smile growing broader.

Razz’s soul pulsed. Let Blue keep the edgelord. Razz had a more interesting challenge in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mind if I join you?”


	13. Welcome to the--

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rottenberry request. (Warning: I fail at Rottenberry, apparently.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: pre-Rottenberry. Blue & the Swellbros. Life on the surface isn’t as nice as they thought it would be.
> 
> Warnings: Humans are dicks.

Blue ran up the walk, nearly vibrating with excitement. He knocked briskly on the door, bouncing on his toes. The door opened a crack, revealing a chain lock and a glowing violet eyelight. Slim looked down at him and raised a brow-bone. “Hi—“ The door slammed shut. Blue stood there blinking, his hand still raised in a wave. Then the chain was disengaged with a clatter, and Slim opened the door wide, stepping to one side to let him in. Blue’s grin reignited and he tried again. “Hi~!”

Slim stared down at him, twirling the sucker in his mouth. Then he lifted a hand in greeting, but held his silence. Blue shifted his feet. “I wanted to be the first one to welcome you guys to the neighborhood!” he said cheerfully, “So. Welcome!” He glanced around the living room, taking in the haphazardly stacked boxes. “Do you need any help moving in? I’m happy to offer my assistance!”

Slim looked between him and a single box labeled, ‘dog’s crap’. Brightening, Blue scooped it up and beamed at Slim. Slim’s brow-bone crept higher, but then he shrugged and motioned for Blue to follow him down the hall. He ushered Blue into a small, dingy room. Aside from a few clothing items hanging in the open closet—and a good deal more piled on the floor—the room was only occupied by a bare mattress. Blue glanced around, still beaming…though his eyelights were starting to haze around the edges. “So, um, where do you want this?”

Slim held out his hands to receive the box, then promptly walked to the center of the room…and upended it. Socks spilled onto the floor—a good deal more, Blue thought, than should have been able to fit in a box that size. Slim shook the box violently, once the overflow of socks had stopped, dislodging—somehow—one last sock. That task accomplished, Slim flung the box into the corner and flopped onto the mattress.

Cocking his head slightly to one side, Blue looked around the room again, rubbing his upper arm. “Um…do you need help with anything else?” Slim shook his head and popped his earbuds into his ears. His fingers started drumming to the beat echoing through his skull. Well. Alright then. “I’ll. Um. I’ll just go, then.” Slim didn’t stir, but he did give him a thumbs up in reply.

Blue shut the door gently behind him, not entirely sure what had just happened. But. That’s okay. Slim was just…well, Slim. It wasn’t personal; he was like that with pretty much everyone. Deliberately brightening, Blue puffed up his chest and marched down the hall, searching for Razz. He was easy enough to find; Blue just had to follow the sound of disgruntled muttering and the banging of pots and pans. “Hi, Ra—“

Busy putting dishes and other kitchenware in their place, Razz looked back at him, mouth twisted into a sneer. “Did the dog let you in?”

Grin faltered, Blue hesitated in the doorway. “Uh, yeah.” He swallowed and forced himself to smile. “I came by to see if you needed any help with anything.”

Razz slammed the cupboard door shut and marched over. “Listen up, you piss-poor imitation of me. We moved here because we didn’t have any other options. Neither of us wants to be here, and if I had to guess, none of the others much want us here either. So, if you’re going to insist on making a nuisance of yourself, then there are three rules you need to know:’

“Rule number one: don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not going to change.’

“Rule number two: just because the _dog_ lets you in, that doesn’t mean you’re welcome here.’

“And, rule number three: I. Don’t. Need. Your. _Help_.”

Blue froze in place, grin locked in a rictus and eyelights shrunk to small blue dots. Stars…. “A-alright, then.” He took a breath, but any attempt at a smile fizzled and died a moment late. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just…go, then.”

“It would be the most intelligent thing you’ve done all day.” With that, Razz returned his attention to the kitchen cupboards, muttering under his breath as he did so.

Blue backed out of the doorway, feeling a little lost. He’d only wanted to welcome the Fell-verse monsters. He knew that the transition to the surface was a difficult one…especially since things were not as…nice here, as they’d all hoped. But that was all the more reason to put on a smile and stay positive! Things would get better, surely, but they had to believe it, first. And work for it. Snapping at each other wouldn’t help anything.

Outside, he hesitated in front of the Swapfell brothers’ house, looking at the surrounding houses. All of them, largely, the same, and all of them showing signs of being constructed in a hurry. This was better than the camps, at least. They should be grateful the humans had shown them this much Mercy. (An inner voice stirred, growling in rage, but he quelled it.)

He scuffed his foot on the sidewalk. Looking up and down the street. The Fell brothers had been assigned to a house just down the block, and they’d settled in well enough. The Undertale and Underswap brothers were a few streets over, sharing one of the larger units. Blue had hoped that, living in such close proximity, they might all be able to…support each other. Because, whatever Razz said, he did need help. They all did. They needed to stand together, if they were going to have any hope at all of making things better.

Lifting his chin, Blue marched back toward his own house. He needed to retreat and regroup, but he was already making plans for his next foray. Not even Razz could withstand the indefatigable charms of the Magnificent charms.

(Nor could the humans, for that matter. They just hadn’t realized it yet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rule number one: don't bother sucking up. I already hate you, that's not going to change."
> 
> Apparently this one really screamed "rottenberry" because I had two separate requests for it. Additionally, I don't know why I keep dropping these poor skeletons into a dystopia every time I send them to the surface. It's becoming a little disheartening.


	14. ...we can't take him anywhere, can we?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Razz, and a separate request for Cherryblossom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: All the skeles. All four AUs. Fluff. Humor. On the surface. Humans aren’t dicks, for once. Razz POV; Papyrus POV. Spicyhoneyberry. Cherryblossom. Minor Rottenjoke. (This is basically the Broken Bones gang on the surface, but there’s no spoilers for the fic, and it’s not canon.)

Razz slapped Slim’s hand away. “I don’t need a jacket!” he hissed. Slim—smiling slightly, which was completely infuriating—just shrugged and put the jacket away. On the drive over, he kept humming quietly, and he never lost that maddening grin. Razz crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath, unhappy that he’d allowed himself to be talked into this. Well, ‘talked into’ was the wrong phrase, since Slim hadn’t actually said more than one or two words on the matter. But he’d left flyers taped to the bathroom mirror…and the oven door…and Razz’s face. Waking up to the phrase ‘COUNTY FAIR’ taped across his sockets was not an experience he’d been all too keen to repeat.

Sometimes, he missed the days that his brother would have been too cowed to try something quite that bold…but then he’d hear his brother humming or, if he was really lucky, a snippet of his brother’s soft singing. It was a reminder that, even if Slim was incredibly annoying, Razz was much happier to have a brother, rather than a dog.

Of course, that didn’t mean Razz was going to go quietly. “How long do we have to stay?” Slim shrugged. Because that was so helpful. “You’re certain everyone is going?” Slim nudged his cell phone over, and Razz checked the text messages, verifying that all the other skeletons were coming along. He huffed loudly, but he’d run out of complaints disguised as questions.

Outside the gate, they ran into Blue and Stretch. The former beamed at both of them and bounced over, nearly vibrating he was so excited. “Hi, Razz! Slim said—well, not said, but you know what I mean—that you’d be coming, but we weren’t sure you’d really show up! I’m so glad you’re here~!”

Then, Blue promptly caught him up in a hug, actually picking him up off the ground. A little out of breath, Razz wheezed, “Put me down!”

“Oh! Oops, sorry—I know I can get carried away sometimes, but—“

“Stop,” Razz said, shoving him back. “Just. Quit it, or I’ll bite.”

Blue looked back at him, caught between uncertainty and excitement. Stretch walked up behind him. He looked calm enough, but his magic eye was lit and blazing. Razz just rolled his eyelights at the taller skeleton. He was a  _Papyrus_ —as if Razz could ever find him even remotely intimidating. A skeletal hand settled on his shoulder, and Razz huffed in annoyance, fully aware the two dogs were having a silent standoff overhead. Then again, if he had to choose, he’d much rather have Slim at his back than any other Papyrus. (Edge he’d rather have in front, since he made a larger target, and with HP like that, he was at least built to take a hit.)

Then Blue waved at Slim and greeted him enthusiastically, even as he tugged his own brother toward the ticket booth. The tension in the air dissipated almost immediately, and Razz raised a brow-bone, somewhat impressed with his innocent alternate. Strolling forward, he motioned for Slim to follow. “Come along then…brother.”

Slim actually straightened out of his slouch for an instant, smiling warmly. Razz was doubly grateful for his brother’s presence because he kept the humans from pressing in on him as they moved through the line. Past the gate, they met up with the Swap brothers once more, then—

“For the last time, I said ‘no’, Sans!” They heard the Fell brothers—well, Edge—before they saw them.

“aw, c’mon, boss. you like kids, doncha?”

“I hardly see the relevance.” He spoke as if through grit teeth.

“c’mon. ya gotta admit they’re cute.”

Edge, coming into view, was rubbing the spot between his brow-bones, and he gave every sign of being in physical pain. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation,” he grumbled, then looked up at the others. He raised a hand in greeting, then said something to his brother too quietly for the others to hear. Red frowned and shoved the remains of a mustard-covered corndog in his mouth.

Edge approached the others, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. Blue, undeterred, ran forward and flung himself at the taller skeleton. Edge caught him and, briefly, his scowl cracked into a true smile, but he soon buried his amusement back under a layer of irritation. “Hi, Edge~!”

“Blue.”

Stretch, smirking, walked over and looped a loose arm around Edge’s waist. “heya, edgelord.” Edge allowed Stretch to kiss his cheekbone, though a faint red blush bloomed in response. “red. you two been here for a while or what?”

“nah,” Red said around his mouthful, “boss’s jus’ bein’ a jack—“

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, runt.” Red flipped him off, and Edge rolled his eyelights. Then he met Razz’s gaze and said, cryptically, “I don’t know which of you I should warn off, so I’m just going to say this: don’t go to the livestock tent.”

Razz’s brow-bone crept up. “…what?”

Red had siddled up to Slim, though, and was showing him something on his phone. Slim’s eyelights immediately dilated, and he whined. Both Slim and Red glanced at Edge and Razz, then pulled in closer to confer. “I suppose that answers that question,” Edge muttered to himself. To Razz, he said, “Don’t take your brother to the livestock tent.”

“…what?”

Then a loud voice called out, “CHERRY!” and Red was separated from Slim as the last Papyrus appeared to scoop him up into a hug. Razz froze, realizing that if Papyrus was here, then—

“heya, razzberry jam.”

A hot flush crept up Razz’s cheekbones, and he turned to meet a pair of pale blue eyelights. He tried to draw himself up, tried to summon the appropriate outrage at the undignified nickname…but his mouth seemed to have sealed itself shut as soon as he saw the other skeleton. He lifted a hand in greeting, as mute as his brother.

Behind Sans, Slim smirked, and Razz wasn’t sure if he wanted to murder him…or thank him.

 

Papyrus hefted Cherry onto his back, carrying him piggyback. His soul buzzed in excitement, not just at the prospect of their first human fair but because of Cherry’s proximity. He and Slim made eye contact, the two of them nodding covertly. Papyrus would have to find some way of paying him back—Sans was notoriously difficult to shake, but if he was distracted by Razz….

“c’mon, creampuff,” Cherry murmured next to his acoustic meatus. “le’s make tracks b’fore ketchup-breath catches on.”

Papyrus nodded once—though he had to clench his jaw against a chastisement—then slipped into the crowd, determined to have some time alone with Cherry. For once. As they made their way down the main thoroughfare, Papyrus jumped when something in Cherry’s pocket started vibrating against his spine. “NGH!”

“whoops,” Cherry said, fishing out the phone, “sorry, ‘rus.” He eyed the phone, then sighed and grumbled something under his breath.

“WHO WAS IT?”

Cherry sighed. “boss. he’s bein’ a buzzkill.”

“WHAT DOES HE WANT?”

With another sigh, Cherry read the text. “he says, ‘jus’ don’ buy a goat. i don’ care what else ya do. jus’ no goats.’ like i said. buzzkill.”

“ALRIGHT. THAT’S NOT ODDLY SPECIFIC AND STRANGELY DISCONCERTING AT ALL.”

“so, whaddaya wanna do now?”

Papyrus paused and considered the question. Then answered as succinctly as he could. “EVERYTHING.”

And they did. They started small, at the face-painting booth. The artist had been delighted to paint a pair of living skeletons to look like walking, talking sugar-skulls. Then they’d wandered through the ‘haunted house’, though they’d ended up scaring a few of the teenagers running the exhibit rather than being scared themselves. Cherry dragged Papyrus forcibly through the food-booths, daring him to try a variety of greasy concoctions until Papyrus had said that, despite not having a stomach, he might actually vomit. They played the games, baffling the attendants when they managed to win…with only a little magic. Papyrus was eager to try some of the rides too, until Cherry had started shaking when they got to the front of the first line.

“ITS OKAY, CHERRY. LET’S DO SOMETHING ELSE.”

Cherry protested weakly but allowed Papyrus to pull him away, and he sank into Papyrus’ embrace when the taller hugged him close. By that time, it was starting to get late, the sun just starting to touch the horizon. Cherry drew himself up and said, “do ya…do ya wanna try the ferris wheel?”

“CHERRY, WE DON’T HAVE TO—“

“nah. i wan’ed ta—i-i mean, ‘s not like the others, right? ‘s jus’ a big loop. i can do that.”

Papyrus looked him up and down, worried that he might be pushing himself for Papyrus’ sake…but it seemed like he really wanted to do this. Mentally shrugging, Papyrus agreed and they made their way to the Ferris Wheel. The attendant—a young woman—smiled warmly at them as they took their seats. “Enjoy the ride~,” she said with a wink.

Cherry laughed nervously, but Papyrus just smiled at her. “THANK YOU, STRANGE WOMAN. WE WILL.” She laughed as she set the wheel in the motion, sending them up. Cherry squirmed in his seat, playing with his collar and shaking a little. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, CHERRY?”

He nodded jerkily, but didn’t say anything. Papyrus pulled him as close as the lap bar would allow and looped an arm over his shoulders. “THERE’S NOTHING TO BE NERVOUS ABOUT. I’M QUITE CERTAIN THE HUMANS ARE VERY DILIGENT WHEN ASSEMBLING THE RIDES.”

Cherry swallowed and took a deep breath. “y-ya know, creampuff? maybe jus’…hold my hand, huh?”

“OF COURSE!”

They clasped hands, and Cherry let out a shaky breath, leaning into him. Papyrus ran a hand up and down Cherry’s humerus soothingly. Then, when they were almost at the top, the wheel jerked to a stop. Cherry shuddered a little but didn’t panic, just squeezed Papyrus’ hand. “ ‘s s’pposed ta do that…right?”

“MOST DEFINITELY!” Papyrus agreed amicably. “AND LOOK! WE HAVE A LOVELY VIEW OF THE FAIRGROUNDS. I THINK I SEE MY BROTHER WAAAY OVER THERE. HELLO BROTHER!” He waved, then leaned down and told Cherry in a loud whisper, “HE CAN’T HEAR ME, BUT I’D FEEL BAD IF I DIDN’T SAY HI.”

Cherry relaxed a little, chuckling at Papyrus’ antics. Papyrus smiled at him and started pointing out the other sights and scenery. Just as he was running out of commentary, though, Cherry reached up and caught his jawbone, turning him to face the smaller monster. “CHERRY?”

“hey, creampuff. i, uh, i got a question fer ya.” Papyrus raised a brow-bone, urging him to go on. “so. do ya like me?” Immediately, Papyrus’ soul felt like it was trying to escape through his ribcage. He swallowed down that feeling, certain Cherry didn’t mean….

“OF COURSE I LIKE YOU! YOU’RE ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS~. PERHAPS EVEN MY BEST BEST FRIEND.”

“no, creamp—papyrus. i mean…do ya like me.” Papyrus swallowed past the lump that had sudden appeared in his throat. When had Cherry figured it out? Was he—did he not want to be friends anymore? Did it make him uncomfortable? Did—? “what i mean, is…do ya like me the same way i like you?”

Papyrus’ sockets went wide. Then, hardly able to speak, he nodded and said, “Y-yes. I…I have…I’ve liked you more than platonically for-for a long…a long time.”

“so…does that mean…i mean, would ya ever consider, maybe going out with me? on-on a date, i mean. like. like a real date. as a-a couple. ya know. like that?”

“I-I would…I would—“ He took a breath and said, “YES! I WOULD LIKE THAT VERY MUCH! I-I mean, if you—“

Cherry brought his skull down and touched their teeth together lightly. Unformed magic crackled between them, making Papyrus’ bones tingle. They pulled back. “tha’ was—“

“YES. YES. QUITE.”

Across the fairground, humans started screaming. Both skeletons jumped and looked out toward the park. Papyrus leaned forward, frowning. “IS THAT—?”

“…a herd ‘a goats runnin’ through the food-booths? …an’ pigs. an’ cows. an’—“

Red’s phone buzzed. He held it up to his ear, grinning. “nope. as ya can see, it ain’t me this time, boss. maybe ya should give slim a call, huh?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually two prompts. "Quit it, or I'll bite." and--the most challenging piece of the entire experience--“Just don’t buy a goat. I don’t care what else you do, just no goats." Yeah. Work that quote naturally into a story. I dare you.


	15. There's no place like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spicyhoney for CheapBourbon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> Tags: Spicyhoney. Blue and Muffet appear as side characters. Fluff and hurt/comfort. Moderate angst. Using Cheapbourbon’s nicknames again. Rus is Swap Pap.
> 
> Warnings: Mild sexual content.

Edge took a deep breath before pushing open the door to Muffet’s. The sudden warmth of the room shocked his bones after the chill of Snowdin. Though, Underswap never seemed quite as cold as his home universe. He navigated around the café’s tables and chairs, ignoring the scuttle of spiders overhead and the stares of the patrons. It was irritating, certainly, but he couldn’t really blame them; most, if not all, of the monsters here had never seen a monster like him before. A monster with LV.

Edge wasn’t here for any of them, though. His gaze landed on Rus, sitting at the bar across the room. Muffet hovered over him, and Edge had to push down his instinctive reaction to that. She glanced up as he got closer, and he stiffened a little, hating the way his bones seemed to crawl under her scrutiny. He pushed down his discomfort, reminding himself that she did not deserve his ire.

He slid onto the stool beside Rus, pushing the glass away when Muffet set one before him. “No thank you,” he said pointedly, then pulled Rus’ glass out of reach as well. “No more for him, either.”

Rus glared at him balefully, trying to grab the glass back. “i don’t remember electing you my babysitter, edgelord.”

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” Edge pushed the glass further out of reach.

“go fuck yourself,” Rus muttered, but he didn’t try to grab the glass again, laying his head down on his crossed arms.

“You know I won’t fuck you when you’re like this.”

Rus actually chuckled a little at that, though there was a bitter note to his laughter. “that mean i’m on top tonight?”

“It means,” Edge said, rolling his eyelights, “that it’s time to go back to the house.”

“…no.”

Edge blinked. “Excuse me?”

“you heard me. i said ‘no’, edgelord.”

Edge sighed and looked at the Spider. “Changed my mind. You have sriracha?” She nodded and filled his glass. Before she could refill Rus’, Edge caught her wrist and said, “He’ll have water.” Rus flipped him off for that, but Edge ignored him. Rolling his glass between his hands, he waited for Muffet to occupy herself elsewhere—her spiders were listening, of course, so anything they said would get back to her, but there was nothing to be done for that, since Rus had chosen such a public venue for this discussion—before leaning forward and asking, “So?”

“ ‘so’, what?”

“I want to know what, exactly, inspired you to come traipsing over here this late at night. Blue was worried.”

“is that why you’re here?” Rus asked. “did he call you?” His phalanges gripped his glass tight, and his jaw was set.

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

Rus let out a hard breath before saying, faux-cheerfully, “yeah, well, sorry to disturb you, but your services are not needed. go home, edgelord.”

Edge eyed him, then shrugged. “If you insist.” With that, he scooped Rus into his arms and carried him off. At the door, he paused to say, “Put it on his tab,” before shouldering the door open and stepping out into the cold.

Clutching at his shoulders and neck, Rus demanded, “w h a t   a r e   y o u   d o i n g ? !”

Smiling wryly, Edge just said, “Going home. That was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

“yeah, this isn’t exactly what i meant!”

“Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not, so quit complaining.” When they reached the Swap brothers’ home, Edge kicked the door in lieu of knocking, since his hands were otherwise occupied. Blut, still in his pajamas, opened the door, looking up at the pair of Papyrus-es with bright, anxious eyelights.

“Papy, are you okay?! Is everything—?” Rus huddled closer to Edge, and Blue fell silent, his sockets wide and his phalanges flexing. He and Edge exchanged a look. Drawing himself up, Blue lifted his chin and, swallowing, said, “I’m. I’m going to go to bed now…but, Papy…if you…if you ever….” Rus turned away entirely, pressing his face into Edge’s chest. Blue’s breath hitched, but he still said, softly, “I’m here for you too.”

Then he turned and dashed up the stairs, likely holding back tears. Edge followed at a more sedate pace, but he waited until they were tucked away in Rus’ room to say, “Shutting him out like that isn’t good for either of you.”

Rus didn’t say anything. It was an old argument, and not one he likely wanted to revisit right now. Edge allowed it to drop and laid the other skeleton out on the bed, grateful he’d convinced Rus to let him clean this room. Otherwise, Edge couldn’t have stayed for very long. Propping himself up on his elbows, he kissed Rus lightly, chuckling a little when he tried to deepen the kiss. “I told you—I’m not fucking you right now.”

“in case you weren’t aware, kissing isn’t the same as fucking.”

“No, but kissing leads to—“ Rus took immediate advantage of his open mouth, drawing him down into a deeper kiss. Edge moaned—tempted, _so_ tempted—but he pulled away. “You really think I’m that easily distracted?”

Sighing, Rus leaned back against the bedspread. “no. but it was worth a shot.” Edge smiled slightly, shaking his head. He shifted so he could run his phalanges over Rus’ skull, scratching lightly at his coronal suture. Rus sighed, pressing into the touch. Groaning a little, he reached up to run his hands along the sides of Edge’s ribcage.

“Now, want to tell me what happened? Or are you going to be difficult?”

His arms dropped back to the bed, and Rus looked to the side. “it was just a nightmare. that’s all. i wish you and blue wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it.”

“And I wish you would call me or talk to blue or do literally anything other than try to drink away your troubles.”

Rus’ sockets closed. “…i don’t want to bother you. either of you.”

Edge’s skull dropped forward, his sockets closed and his brow-bones drawn together. He took a breath, then growled, “You’re not bothering me, you moron! I—“ He swallowed, wishing it wasn’t so difficult for him to say this. “I…love you.” Rus jolted a little and turned to stare at him. “And. That means…I’ll be here for you. When you need me.”

For a few seconds, Rus just stared up at him, and Edge grew increasingly self-conscious. Then Rus smiled faintly, the bitterness bleeding out of his grin and the tension fading from his shoulders. “you serious about that, edgelord?” He smirked a little. “i mean, you used the ‘l’ word and everything.”

“Oh, fuck off—“

Grinning broadly, Rus gripped his hips and pulled him down, grinding their pelvic bones together. “i’m game if you are.” He winked.

Edge huffed but gave him a long, lingering kiss. “You’re completely incorrigible, you know that?” Then he pulled back to say, “And, yes, I’m serious. You big orange idiot.”

Rus smiled up at him, trailing his hands up and down Edge’s sides. “you mean it?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“and…the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

Rus pulled him down and kissed him again…but this kiss was different. It was desperate rather than playful, and it left Edge almost delirious. When Rus pulled away, both of them were breathless. “you don’t remember?” Rus asked, tracing a thumb over Edge’s cheekbone. “you called this place ‘home’.”

Edge blinked. Oh. He…he had, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t even thought about it. It had just…popped out. “I guess I did,” he said. He, carefully, didn’t say what thought immediately came to mind. It was too sappy. Too corny. Still, he couldn’t be too surprised at his verbal slip.

Home was where the heart lay, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're coming home with me whether you like it or not."
> 
> This is the last one. : )


	16. Merry-Go-Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after living on the surface, Sans finds he's still adjusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: humor, Frisk, Papyrus, Sans, duncles on the surface
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> No warnings.

It was a beautiful day. Birds were singing. Flowers blooming. Children screaming. In joy—or so Sans was told. He really had no desire to ride any of the rides or do more than cruise the amusement park’s over-priced food stalls. Maybe photobomb a few tourists. That was always fun. This was really more Papyrus’s sort of thing anyway. He and the kid had taken off earlier. Sans made a point of checking in on them every once in a while, but he wasn’t all that worried about either of them. How much trouble could they possibly get into, right?

Or, that’s what he’d thought, until Papyrus came running up to him, sockets wide and breathing rapid. “I LOST OUR CHILD!”

Sans blinked, his mind having trouble processing that. His first reaction was to remind Papyrus that they didn’t _have_ a child. Then he realized what his brother actually meant, and his sockets went wide. “oh, shit. tori’s gonna kill us.”

“SANS! WHETHER OR NOT OUR FRIENDS ARE GOING TO MURDER US IS BESIDE THE POINT—FRISK COULD BE SCARED AND IN NEED OF A PLATONIC FRIEND HUG! THEY COULD EVEN BE IN— _“_ He paused dramatically. “ _—DANGER!_ WE HAVE TO FIND THEM!”

“right, right. okay. where did you last see them?”

“WE WERE IN LINE FOR PRETZELS AND THEN WHEN I TURNED AROUND, FRISK WAS GONE!”

“alright, let’s go check out everything around the pretzel booth. maybe they got distracted and wandered off? i mean, frisk’s a smart kid. how much trouble could they get into?”

“THEY ONCE FELL _INTO A MOUNTAIN_ , SANS!”

“…point taken.” They searched frantically, even asking random passersby if they had seen the kid, but no one had. Sans was really starting to get a bad feeling about this. His fingers were shaking and his soul pulsed nervously. He honestly wouldn’t have thought he actually cared that much about the kid. They’d been on the surface for nearly a year now…but for some reason, he had some lingering suspicions about the kid. Like he was just waiting for ~~—[RESET]~~ —the kid to _do_ something. Something…unpleasant. But not being able to find them like this? It—

“ _FRISK!_ ”

Papyrus suddenly took off, sweeping the kid up into his arms. He was loudly proclaiming how glad he was to have found them, how bravely he and Sans had been searching. Sans barely heard. His knees went out from under him and he covered his sockets with one hand, his breathing hitching with relief so strong it was nearly painful.

A small hand reached out, patting his shoulder. He looked up at Frisk and smiled weakly. “heya, kiddo. g-glad we found you. we were—“ He tried to hang on to his dignity, tried to stay reserved and distant. ~~Tried to maintain his Judge’s façade~~. But his smile crumbled and he gathered Frisk into his arms, holding them close. “don’t _do_ that, kiddo. not ever. don’t just—you can’t just run off on us, huh?” To his shock, blue tears tracked down his cheekbones. “you gotta promise me. promise you won’t do that. not ever again. we were—“ He swallowed, pressing his forehead into Frisk’s. “we were so worried, kid. you have no idea. so worried.”

Frisk pulled back and smiled softly. They held up their hands and signed, _Never again. I promise. Never again._


	17. (Not) Without reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fell-verse monsters have some unique superstitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> Pairing: Twisted Edgelord
> 
> Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff and angst
> 
> Warning for mention of death and some mild anxiety, some implied sexual content (very mild)

“Twisted logic.” It was a running joke amongst the skeletons, applied whenever Twist did something that was particularly nonsensical or brow-raising. He was fairly sure it had started with either Red or Sans, but it had spread outward from there. Even Papyrus or Blue would occasionally look at each other and say, “Twisted logic” with something approximating loving exasperation. It really didn’t bother him. He knew he was ‘off’. Knew he’d been that way for a long time now.

Every once in a while, though, he forgot that no one else seemed able to catch his train of thought.

“What did ya jus’ say?” he asked again, glaring hard at Blue. The smaller monster stared back at him with wide sockets.

“Um.” Blue had his hands held in front of him, as if trying to ~~hold him back~~ placate him. He looked to his brother, who had stood from the couch and was making his way over now. “I said…‘goodbye’?”

Twist exhaled hard and looked between Blue and Edge, scraping his hands over his skull as his breathing kicked up. “Why would ya say sumthin’ like that?” he finally asked, sounding hurt. Rus paused mid-step, suddenly unsure of himself. Edge just sighed, one hand over his sockets. “I thought—I thought the two ‘a ya were friends?”

Sockets still almost comically wide, Blue looked between them. “I—? We are? I mean. I thought we were….”

“Then why would ya—?”

“Twist,” Edge said, catching his shoulder. “Stop. They’re Tale-verse.”

Twist looked from Edge to the others, noting the uncertainty and…even a trace of fear in their features. “oh,” he said, voice small. He drew in on himself, tucking his shoulders and ducking his head. “i.”

Edge planted a hand on the top of his skull and pressed down, forcing Twist to bow forward. It was a gruff gesture, even a cruel one when viewed from outside, but before pulling away, Edge ran careful fingers down the back of Twist’s skull and neck. The touch was soothing and, in its way, sweet. Edge stepped in front of him, and something inside of Twist unclenched when his lover took command of the situation. He straightened, but kept his gaze down, shoulders relaxed. Edge tilted his head to regard Blue. “We don’t say goodbye. We say ‘farewell’ or ‘see you again’ or something of that nature.” Blue and Stretch shared a look.

By this time, the other Tale-verse monsters were starting to gather, while the Fell monsters dismissed it. Under his breath, Red said, “Twisted logic,” to Sans and turned away to continue playing video games with Slim.

“Why?” Blue asked.

“It’s an old superstition. Unique to the Fell-verses,” Edge said, arms crossed.

When he didn’t elaborate, Twist said, “sayin’ goodbye means ya don’ think the other monster’ll be ‘round long ‘nough fer ya ta meet ‘em again.” A light flush of gold across his cheekbones revealed his embarrassment. Of course Blue wouldn’t mean something like that. Twist should have known better. Twist _did_ know better.

Edge glanced back at him, saying firmly, “But that’s all it is. A superstition. It means nothing.” Carefully, he prompted, “Right, mutt?”

Still looking at the ground, Twist nodded. “Right.” The word tasted hollow to him, but he knew Edge wouldn’t accept any other answer. He did notice, however, when he turned away, Edge still didn’t say, ‘goodbye’. He just raised a hand in farewell, motioning for Twist to fall into step behind him as he made his way down to the basement.

While they waited for the machine to boot up, Twist toed the ground, still afraid to actually look up. “ ‘m sorry,” he muttered, “fer embarrassin’ ya. I didn’ mean ta….”

Edge sighed. “You didn’t—“ He looked over at Twist and caught him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him close. Though Twist was taller and broader, Edge managed to fold around him, catching him in a tight hug. Twist sank into the embrace, arms tight around Edge’s ribcage and face pressed into Edge’s cervical vertebrae. “You didn’t embarrass me,” Edge said, emphasizing his words with a squeeze. “Sometimes you worry me,” he said, running soothing claws over Twist’s skull, “but I’m certainly not embarrassed.”

Twist would have been content to just bask in this outpouring of affection, but he found himself pulling back to ask, “Worry? What’re ya worried about, darlin’?”

Edge caught Twist’s face between his hands and forced him to look into Edge’s sockets. “I know you,” Edge said, “You’re going to obsess about this, aren’t you?”

Immediately, Twist’s eyelight flicked to the side. “…no?” he tried, but Edge sighed.

He scratched along Twist’s coronal suture, then down the back of his skull to work his cervical vertebrae between his fingers. Twist leaned into him, head tilted to give him better access, and began purring quietly. Twist started to inch a hand under Edge’s shirt, phalanges brushing the underside of his floating ribs, but Edge swatted his hand away. “None of that,” he said, “Did you forget that we’re in the Swapbrothers’ basement? While the others are all still upstairs? Anyone could come down here at any time.”

Chuckling, Twist nuzzled into his neck. “Ya know me, precious; the more, the merrier, right?” Mischievously, he dropped one hand down to pinch Edge’s coccyx. That only earned him a swift tug on the collar of his jacket and a glare.

“Behave,” Edge warned, despite the dusting of crimson across his cheekbones.

“Right, right. Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’ mean anythin’ by it.”

Edge rolled his eyelights at the blatant lie, then turned to the machine. “I’ll call you later—“

“Aw, c’mon; ya don’ wanna continue this back at yer place?”

Edge gave him a look, and Twist’s spine went rigid. His game had been found out. “No,” Edge said firmly, “I don’t need you trying to play guard. They’re just words, Twist; nothing is going to happen to me.” He took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to call you in the morning, as always, and we are going to proceed _as normal_.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, I’m not gonna—“

Edge held up a warning finger. “No,” he reiterated, “I know you. I know what you’re thinking. But nothing has changed. I’m certainly not going to allow an old superstition to rule my life, and I _expect_ that you won’t either.” The emphasis on ‘expect’ made it clear Edge wasn’t simply asking—he was ordering.

Closing his sockets, Twist exhaled slowly. “But what if—?”

Edge hooked a claw through Twist’s jaw before he could finish, bringing his mouth down for a fierce kiss. Soul hammering, Twist drove him backwards, pressing him against the wall as the kiss went from fierce to desperate. Finally, they broke away, panting softly. Edge tilted his head up to meet Twist’s gaze. “You and I both know that, one day, one of us isn’t going to be able to answer the phone.” Edge brought him down and kissed him again. Slower, this time. Softer. “But no amount of knocking on wood, or flipping coins right side up, or avoiding cracks in the pavement, or saying our goodbyes without ever actually using those words is going to prolonged our time together.”

Twist closed his sockets and leaned his skull against Edge’s. “i know,” he whispered, “but it’s a nice thought, ain’t it?”

“That you can avoid ever having to say goodbye just by never saying it?” Edge sighed. “Yes. It’s a nice thought. And keep doing those things, if it makes you feel better.” Edge squeezed his hand, fingers running over the back of Twist’s metacarpals. “But not if it gives you something else to worry over, love. Not if it does more harm than good.”

Slowly, Twist exhaled and nodded. “Yer right,” he whispered, “I know yer right…but please? Can I stay over tanight?”

“You’re not my guard dog, mutt.”

“Nah, sweetheart. Not fer that.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Edge’s again. “Ya jus’ reminded me. Life’s short, right? So let’s have some fun with the time we got, huh?”

Which a chuckle, Edge did agree to that, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twist is from my Twistfell AU. You can find it in my works.


	18. Shared fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slim has some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Mapleblossom
> 
> Warnings: skelepreg

“and that’s how you ruin a life,” Sans said, watching Papyrus run out of the room with tears in his sockets. “congratulations. now get out.”

Slim’s gaze was fixed on Papyrus’ retreating back. He stepped forward, but Sans blocked him. Slim looked down at him, trying to find his voice, trying to explain that he hadn’t  _meant_ to say it like that, but all that came out was a hoarse squeak. “i said—” Slim’s sockets went wide as his soul was caught and turned blue. “—get. out.” Sockets empty, grin fierce and disconcerting, Sans force him out the door.

Landing on his coccyx in the snow, Slim flinched as the door slammed shut. He covered his sockets and breathed steadily for a few minutes, trying to gather himself. He just needed to talk to Papyrus. To apologize, at least. To  _explain himself_. Even if…even if Papyrus wouldn’t want anything to do with him afterwards, Slim needed to explain.

Standing, he swallowed and brushed off the snow, then gathered a few small stones and darted around the side of the house. Papyrus wouldn’t want him to simply teleport into his room—that was a boundary they’d established early on—so Slim resorted to an old technique, one they used early in their relationship, before Slim managed to win Sans’ approval, however fleetingly. He tossed rocks at the window, waiting and hoping and praying to the stars and any eavesdropping god that Papyrus would just give him a chance!

He sighed in relief when the window opened, and Papyrus looked down on him, though he cursed himself for the tears glimmering in Papyrus’ sockets. “SL—” He swallowed hard and drew himself up. “SMALL-ME,” he said, using an old nickname. A nickname he’d discarded when they started their relationship. “I R-REALLY DON’T WISH TO TALK WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. PLEASE. TRY AGAIN LATER OR-OR LEAVE A MESSAGE WITH SANS. I’LL GET B-BACK TO YOU AT AN-ANOTHER TIME.” He kept his chin lifted as he spoke, though Slim could see it quivering.

Breathing hard, voice still lost, Slim did the only thing he could think of; he knelt down in the snow and clasped his hands. Literally begging on his knees. Papyrus shook his head, sockets squeezed shut, but he motioned for Slim to come up nonetheless. Letting out a relieved sigh, Slim took a shortcut to Papyrus room.

Shutting the window, Papyrus asked, “SO? Y-YOU MADE IT V-VERY CLEAR THAT YOU WANTED N-NOTHING TO DO WITH…WITH….” He choked a put a hand over his summoned stomach, currently concealed by the sweater he was wearing. “—with us,” he whispered.

Slim swallowed hard. He was going to fuck this up. He was sure of it.  ~~He’d already fucked up once. He was only going to make it worse. Why was he even bothering—~~ But he had to try. Breathing deep, he shut his sockets and tried to calm himself enough to speak. Thankfully, Papyrus was willing to wait for him to gather himself. “i’m sorry,” he finally said. It was as good a place to start as any. “i.” Another deep breath. “i love you. more’n…more’n anything.” Papyrus lifted his head, but Slim just buried his face in the ruff of his hood, unwilling to face him.

“but i’m…i’m not a good person. i’m not good for you. i wouldn’t—i wouldn’t…be good for  _them_  either.” He gestured to Papyrus’ abdomen, then curled his hand into a fist and withdrew it, squeezing his ulna. “you—both of you—deserve someone better.”

Papyrus took a step toward him. “That’s not true.”

Slim flinched, tightening his grip on his ulna. “it is.”

Suddenly, Papyrus was in front of him, cupping his face in his hands. “You love me? You love—” He pulled Slim’s hand from his ulna and pressed it to his abdomen, allowing Slim to feel the heat of his summoned ectobody. “—you love  _us_?”

Sockets wide, Slim asked, almost desperately, “how could i not?” As if a dam inside of him burst, all the words came pouring out at once. “you’re–you’re  _you_. and they’re…they’re just. a little piece of you. of  _course_  i love you. both of you.”

Papyrus smirked. “They’re a piece of you too.”

Slim pulled back, shaking his head as he tried to retreat. Papyrus wouldn’t let him go. “pap—”

“Slim. Look at me.” Unable to resist, Slim looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “You are a  _good_ person.”

“i’m not—”

“ARE YOU IMPLYING THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM THE TYPE TO FIB!?” Slim snorted, shaking his head. Smiling, Papyrus asked more genuinely, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“what?”

“I’m scared, Slim. I’m scared, and I know—I know you’re scared too. Because this is…this is  _big_. And I want…I want you to be there. With me.” He took Slim’s hands in both of his, and said, “Maybe, if we’re together…it won’t seem quite as big.”

Slim swallowed. “i’m not. i’m not ready for this.”

Papyrus laughed, a little hysterical. “Neither am I!” He squeezed his lover’s hands. “We can figure it out together.”

Slim swallowed, eyeing the other skeleton. It was hard to believe, at first, that Papyrus wanted anything to do with him. Harder now to believe that Papyrus would want his help with something as simple as changing a lightbulb. Impossible to imagine he would want help raising a child. But…. “you mean it?”

“OF COURSE!” Smiling tentatively, Slim reached out and pulled Papyrus into a hug, then allowed the taller skeleton to kiss him gently. Clearing his throat, Papyrus said, “NOW WE JUST NEED TO EXPLAIN THINGS TO SANS.”

Oh. Well. Shit.


	19. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underfell is not a nice place--to live or to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Honeymustard
> 
> Warnings: Brief description of injuries, nothing too graphic.

Stretch ran, nearly falling over himself in the heavy snow. He dodged around snow-laden branches, occasionally having the forethought to pin a branch back with a bone construct—releasing it just in time to smash into his pursuers. They caught on relatively quickly, though. Again, he cursed his lack of familiarity with Underfell. A blind teleport was risky, but as the monsters on his heels started to catch up— _next time Sans got on his ass about smoking he wasn’t going to say anything except ‘yep, bro, you’re so right’_ —he was seriously starting to consider it.

He heard the crackle of magic and instinctively dodged. A tree just ahead of him went up in flames. His step faltered and that was enough—a hand latched onto his hoodie, hoisting him up. The collar pulled against his cervical vertebrae, and panic strangled his soul. Not even aware of his own actions, Stretch unzipped the hoodie and pulled free. As he tumbled forward toward the fire, though, instinct took over and he teleported blind.

It was not a mistake, exactly, but it did cost him. The rent in space-time spit him out far above the ground, and he landed with a sickening crunch. The breath was knocked from his soul and he stared up at the Underground’s flickering lights high above, trying to breathe. His shoulder flared with a sharp, piercing pain. Without looking, he could guess that it was dislocated. His coccyx and pelvis felt like they were on fire or being swarmed by stinging insects. He couldn’t move, but he suspected that they were broken.

Finally, he was able to draw air into his soul, but that only highlighted the pain in the rest of his body. He squeezed his sockets shut, pained tears gathering in his sockets. He needed to get home, but he couldn’t even stand. When he tried to force himself to teleport, his soul screamed in protest and his vision blurred. He’d pushed himself to his limits, and he could go no further.

Cold seeped into his bones, biting deep. Sleep pulled at him, drawing him down. A momentary thought flitted through his mind, reminding him that sleeping in the snow was bad. That he shouldn’t….

He shouldn’t….

…shouldn’t….

…should….

…

* * *

Stretch woke slowly, surprised to feel warmth seeping into his bones. He tried to move, but a hand held him down. Panic flared, but his soul turned blue with a ping and a rough, familiar voice said, “ease up—yer fine, sweetheart. yer fine. can ya hear me? stretch?  _papyrus_?”

Breathing deep, Stretch focused on the blurred face above him, picking out the cracked socket and the bright red eyelights. “…red?”

Red grinned fiercely, gold tooth glinting. “there ya are. how many fingers am i holdin’ up, huh?”

Closing his sockets, Stretch said, “i don’t even need to see clearly to know you’re giving me the double bird salute.”

“well at least we know you didn’t hit your head,” Red laughed, patting Stretch’s cheek condescendingly. “now.” He leaned close. “what the fuck do ya think yer doin’ here, sweetcheeks?”

Stretch met his gaze. “i was coming to check on you. it’s been a few days, and i was worried.” Red raised a brow-bone. “you didn’t answer any of my messages, red! can you blame me for being worried? i mean, someone has to look out for you. stars know your bro doesn’t.”

A bowl was set on the coffee table, and Stretch followed the long arm all the way up to meet Edge’s sockets. “Soup,” the prickly skeleton said crisply, “You’ll need it to raise your HP.” He looked to Red and said sharply, “Get him well enough to move, then get him out of my house, runt. That’s an order.”

“yes, sir!” Red said with a sarcastic salute, earning a smack to the back of his head as Edge passed. Red rubbed the spot, but as soon as Edge’s back was turned, his scowl shifted into a fond smile. The front door opened and slammed shut—apparently the edgelord needed to get back to work. When he was gone, Red crossed his arms and turned back to Stretch. “well? you heard boss—eat yer soup. then we need ta get ya back ta underswap.” He maneuvered Stretch into a sitting position, chuckling occasionally. “my hero,” he said through snickers, “chargin’ in on ‘is white horse ta rescue little ol’ me.”

“oh, shut up!” Stretch said, though he was starting to laugh too. “i was really worried, okay? besides, you’re the one that’s been too busy to answer your damn phone. what’d you do? lose it in a bottle of mustard?”

“ _no_ ,” he said, but he was blushing. Then he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “…but i might have lost it in a bet a few days back. haven’t had a chance to get it back or get a new one.”

Stretch widened his sockets as if in realization. “ah. that does explain why you didn’t respond to all those dick pics.”

They regarded each other for a few seconds, then both of them burst into laughter. When they recovered, Stretch obediently ate the offered soup, grateful to feel it restoring his magic and his HP. Red looked on, arms crossed and brow-bones furrowed in concern. “hey, uh, stretch?”

“hmm?”

“don’t do that again, huh?”

Stretch set the bowl of soup aside. “red—“

“ya could ‘a died,” Red said softly. Under his breath, he muttered, “big, idiot tale-verse skeleton. gettin’ inta more trouble’n he knows how ta handle.” Stretch reached out with his good arm and drew Red close, allowing the other monster to cling to him, his hold like iron. “ya can’t fuckin’ do shit like this, tale-verse. yer lucky the dogs found ya. even luckier they brought ya ta boss—an’ lucky boss don’t hate ya as much as he pretends. yer a lucky fucker, but ya can’t count on luck every time. don’t fuckin’ pull this shit.”

“yeah?” Stretch asked, his own grip tightening, “and what about you? fucking hell, red, i was worried for a reason. i thought you were—“

Neither of them could finish the thought. Red reached up and pressed their skulls together, forehead to forehead. Their souls both started to glow and pulse, as if trying to reach out to the other monster. Unspoken words hung heavy between them. Silently, they just held each other even tighter and hoped the other understood what neither of them was brave enough to say. 

_i love you._


	20. Unexpected cultural differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Fell-verse skeletons supply a little entertainment for the evening.

“heh. hey, boss?” Red nudged Edge’s side, getting him to crack open his sockets. His eyelights were a little hazed at this point, and his features were relaxed and open for once. Convincing him to drink with them had been difficult, but so worth it. It wasn’t often Edge let himself relax, and Sans was honestly delighted to see him like this. No Papyrus should ever carry themselves like the weight of the world was borne on their shoulders.

“What is it, runt?” His voice was just slightly slurred, and the accent he tried so hard to conceal was starting to peek through. Sans took another swig of ketchup to hide his smile. They’d have to do this more often, if it could get the Fell monsters to relax. Even Slim seemed calmer than usual. Then, surprisingly, Red started to hum. Edge’s eyelights flared and he grinned, leaning back with his sockets closed. Sans and Stretch exchanged a look, their sockets growing wide as  _Edge_  started  _singing_.

Not loudly, not at first. But he was definitely singing. “~ _They call her the Wild Rose_ ~,” he rumbled, his voice rough and low. It sent a wave of heat down Sans’ spine, and he scooted forward in his seat, mouth (heh) bone dry. “~ _But her name was Eliza Day~ ~Why they call her that I do not know-oh~ ~For her name was Eliza Day_ ~”

Edge cracked open his sockets, catching Red’s gaze. Red joined him, both of them singing, “~ _On the first day I saw her I knew she was the one_ ~” Red’s voice was deeper, but just as rough. The combination sent shivers down Sans’ spine. Their voices were haunting—gritty and even a little harsh. Pleasant, though. Very pleasant. “~ _For her lips were the color of the roses~ ~They grew down the river all bloody and wild_ ~”

Sans turned to Stretch, ready to make some quiet comment, but then he caught sight of Slim, and all he could do was grip Stretch’s jacket sleeve and clench his jaw, unwilling to disturb the other skeleton. Slim’s eyelights, usually dim or faded, were blazing a brilliant purple, and for once, he looked alert and attentive. Red paused briefly to say to him, “cripes, bro. c’mon; ya know this one, doncha?” Slim blushed, but he didn’t shrink in on himself. Instead, he squirmed a little and leaned forward, one hand shoved into the other sleeve.

Edge just kept singing, but he glanced at Slim, his expression open and inviting. “~ _I said, ‘Do you know where the roses grow~ ~So sweet and scarlet and free?_ ~’”

Slim swallowed visibly, then joined the two of them on the chorus. “~ _They call her the Wild Rose_ ~” His voice was clear but scratchy, singing an octave higher that the Fell brothers.  _Shit_. Sans and Stretch exchanged a look, not wanting to do anything that might disrupt whatever magic had caused the spontaneous concert. Though, honestly, Sans was more than a little surprised.

“~ _On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow~ ~And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief_ ~”

Not that he had been expecting this— _at all_. But if he would have guessed, he wouldn’t have thought they’d choose a love song, of all things. “~ _As I kissed her goodbye, I said ‘All beauty must die’~ ~And lent down and planted a rose ‘tween her teeth_ ~”

Wait.  _Wait_. Did that—? He and Stretch exchanged another wide-eyed look while the Fell-verse monsters finished off the chorus.

“~ _They called her the Wild Rose~ ~But her name was Eliza Day._ ~”

The Fell monsters fell briefly silent, then they grinned and started chuckling. As if the song was funny, somehow. Then Red launched into another one. “~ _When all that you’ve held sacred~ ~Falls down and does not mend~ ~Just remember that death is not the end_ ~” The other two picked it up quickly, but Sans and Stretch remained almost painfully silent, just listening as the Fell monsters actually grew louder as the song continued on. 

“~ _When the cities are on fire~ ~With the burning flesh of men~ When you search in vain to find~ ~Some law-abiding citizen~ ~Just remember that death is not the end_ ~”

What. The.  _Fuck_.

Sans was suddenly immensely grateful that Papyrus and Blue had already gone to bed. This seemed like the beginning of a very interesting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are “Wild Rose”, slightly altered to omit the female portion of the duet, and “Death is Not the End”. Both can be found on Nick Cave’s album “Murder Ballads”.


	21. Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are all drabbles I've been posting on my Tumblr. Finally decided to move them over here.

I.

Edge walked into his room, a towel slung across his pelvis. The other he used to dry his skull, pressing one end into each socket to catch the excess water.

He finished drying his bones and started to get dressed for the day—undershirt and pants, followed by the padding needed to keep his armor from shifting or digging into his bones. Boots next, the sturdy combat boots again padded to make up for his lack of flesh. The armor he strapped on piecemeal—chestguard first, then the paldrons, the gorget, and finally his gloves, padded and tipped with iron claws.

He turned back to his bed, prepared to retrieve his scarf, only to find Fang curled in a perfect circle, neatly nestled on top of it. Edge stared at the cat. The cat stared back, blinking slowly in contentment. Edge sighed and put his hands on his hips.

“Fang.” The cat had the audacity to trill at him. “Doomfanger,” he said, trying to be reasonable, “I need my scarf.”

Fang rolled onto his back, exposing the strip of white fur on his belly. He trilled again. The effect was not at all lessened by his missing eye and scarred body. “Yes, yes,” Edge said dismissively, “You’re very cute. Now—relinquish my scarf.” He tugged on one end, jostling the cat.

Fang immediately flipped onto his belly and growled low and deep. His back end wiggled, then he pounced on Edge’s scarf, claws digging into the knitting. “No!  _No_. Bad cat—Fang! Bad cat!” But Fang just bit down on the scarf and looked up at him, growling again.

Edge threw up his hands. “Fine!” he snapped, “Keep it!” Growling under his breath, he stormed out of the room.

As soon as the front door closed, Fang stood up and stretched, then jumped off the bed in search of another spot to nap.

 

II.

By this time of the night, most of them had more than a couple drinks, and Rus, for one, was well on the road to being properly shitfaced, even if he was only two drinks in. Wobbling, he stood up and lifted his bottle of honey high, one foot on the chair. “I!” he declared, raising his voice for once, “I am in the mood to do something  _incredibly_ stupid.”

Twist raised his hand. “Ooh! Pick me! I’m incredibly stupid!”

Everyone turned to stare at him. “…what?” Rus asked.

“Did I stutter?” Twist asked, looking around to confirm that he had not, in fact, stuttered.

Edge facepalmed. “Stars on fire, mutt, have some dignity.”

“Dignity doesn’ get ya laid, edgelord.”

Cash rolled his eyelights. “yes,” he said, “because acting like a complete and utter moron—”

“eh. sure. why not?” Rus said, stepping down from the chair.

Cash blinked. “ _what.”_

Standing with a flourish, Twist waltzed—literally waltzed, as in  _danced_ —over and took Rus in his arms, guiding him into a deep dip. “Good choice, sweetheart,” he said with a wink, “I’ll show ya real good time, yeah?” Laughing, Rus allowed Twist to sweep him up into his arms and carry him off.

Smirking, Slim held out his hand, and with a sigh, Red slapped a bag of G into it. “fuckin’ hell, boss. ya couldn’t make yer move a little faster?” Red snapped, earning a glare that caused him to pull his hood up and hide his face. “i-i mean, nuthin’, boss. i didn’ say nuthin’.”

“Hmph.” 

 

III.

Blue eyed the card in front of him. A small blue soul, the words “I love you” written across the fold down the center. The writing was neat and careful, but there was no signature in sight. He’d been considering it for a while now. Despite the original author’s hopes for anonymity, Blue knew instantly who it was. He recognized this handwriting. He’d seen it scribbled across plans for traps and used to make chore lists for the household.

Now he just needed to decide what to do about it. His soul was hammering in his chest. Loud and excited and…and a little scared too. He’d never imagined that the other monster might feel the same way about him. He ran a careful phalange across the soul’s crease, tracing the word ‘love’ with his fingertip.

Well. The Magnificent Sans had never been one to back down from a challenge. Swallowing tightly, he folded the valentine neatly and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping, then went about gathering a few craft supplies.

As Blue had expected, he found Razz atop the hill in the park, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. He had a book in his hand, but the pages were closed over his thumb, as if he’d stopped midway through to contemplate the scene before him. He’d mellowed since coming to the surface. Done so much to improve himself and mend fences with his brother. Blue’s soul swelled at the thought. Proud of him. He paused for a moment, just admiring.

Of course, Blue should not have expected to get the jump on a Fell-verse skeleton. “A picture would last longer,” Razz snapped at him, glaring over his shoulder.

Blue just grinned and settled down beside him. “A picture wouldn’t do it justice,” he said in reply, smiling at the other skeleton.

Lifting his chin, Razz’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Well? What do you want? You didn’t just come out here to—“

Blue held out a lavender card. “I came to give you this,” he said, still smiling.

Razz looked between him and the folded card. “Why would—?”

For a moment, Blue faltered, anxiety making his soul clench. But—“I know your writing, Razz.” The color drained from Razz’s cheekbones, and he stood abruptly and tucked the book under his arm, walking away without looking at Blue or the proffered card again. “Razz—“

“Don’t,” Razz said, still not looking at him. “I made the…the card to get it out of my system. To get  _you_  out of my system. It means nothing. Go deliver that to someone worthy of your affections.” He pointed dismissively to the lavender card still clutched in Blue’s hand then continued to walk away.

Blue blinked, sockets wide. Then he lifted his chin and puffed up his chest, barreling down the hill toward Razz. They landed in a heap, Blue wrapping his arms tightly around the other skeleton. “I’m trying,” he said, “but he won’t take the stupid card.”

Razz, a little stunned, looked up at him, blinking dumbly. “I’m not—“

“Don’t tell me what you’re not,” Blue said fiercely, “I love you, Razz. And nothing you say or do is going to stop me.” For a long moment, Razz remained still and stiff in Blue’s grasp. But, slowly, hesitantly, he returned the hug, melting into the contact.

“I love you too,” he whispered, plucking the card from Blue’s fingers.

 

IV.

“jacket and gloves off.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart—“

“don’ try ta ‘sweetheart’ us, radish-head. yer a dirty cheater an’ ya know it.”

“…fair ‘nough. But the edgelord an’ patches have ta do it too. I ain’t the only card-shark in the room.”

“Excuse me?! I do not  _cheat_.”

“Yer gonna try an’ tell me ya play fair?”

Razz leaned on his hand, drumming his fingers. “You idiots know we aren’t gambling, right?”

“then what’s the point of playing?”

Slim just sighed and continued to shuffle the cards.

There’s a reason Fell monsters don’t host their own game night.

 

V.

“ya think boss’ll like it?” Red asked, wringing his hands.

Twist stood beside him, wiping motor oil off his phalanges. “ ‘course he will,” he said, “Yer the one givin’ it to ‘im; he’ll love it!” He clapped a hand on Red’s shoulder, jolting him a little. Red tugged nervously on his collar, but he smiled hesitantly, looking up at Twist. When he said stuff like that, it was actually pretty easy to forget that he was a Fell monster. One look at his face was reminder enough, however.

“thanks fer yer help,” he said, looking down at the ground as he twisted (heh) his collar once more, “couldn’ ‘a done it without ya. what d’ i owe ya?”

“A date with yer bro?”

“ha! hahaha! yer so fuckin’ funny. it ain’ happenin’ radish-head.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’ up ta you, is it, mustard-fer-brains?” He grabbed Red’s hood and pulled it up over his head and sockets, blinding him.

“hey—!” Red started struggling against the hand holding him in place while Twist laughed. “asshole!” he snapped, breaking free. He snarled at Twist, but faltered when the taller skeleton just smiled at him, sockets crinkled at the corners. Trying to recover himself, Red straightened his spine and brushed himself off, chin raised truculently. He shifted, trying to hold on to his righteous indignation, but eventually he huffed and punched Twist lightly in the side. “fucker,” he said, an accusation and a benediction at once.

Before Twist could retaliate, a black car pulled into the lot. Red froze, shifting nervously. The car was perfectly practical; both roomy enough to comfortably carry four people—five, if two of them were Sans-es—and good on gas mileage. It had a sleek design, at least, and it was pristine, inside and out. Otherwise, the car did not suit Boss’s tastes at all, but when they reached the surface, he had insisted that they needed something practical, something sensible. Even as he cast his gaze longingly at the sports cars, or when his eyelights dilated and flared when they caught on a speeding motorcycle.

Red sometimes hated his brother’s sensible streak—particularly when he denied himself something that he so clearly wanted. Sans and Rus had both bought their brothers their dream vehicles: a cherry-red convertible for Papyrus and a sleek, speedy sportbike for Blue. Razz, of course, had promptly bought the fanciest, flashiest sports car he could afford, while Blackberry had been delighted by his VW Bug, found and rebuilt by Twist. The flame decals were probably Twist’s idea, but Blackberry seemed to like them all the same.

Red just wanted his brother to be fucking happy for once! They were on the surface now! And if any of them deserved a little happiness, it was his little bro. So, Red had asked for Twist’s help. Working at the garage, he could keep his proverbial ear to the ground for something a little more suited to Boss’s personal tastes. And if it needed a little elbow grease to fix it up? Well, Twist was more than happy to help with that, and Boss would approve of their frugality. At least. That’s what Red hoped. “yer sure he’ll like this?” he asked as Boss climbed out of the car.

“Yep!” Twist said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Red wished he had the other monster’s confidence. “h-hey, boss!” he said, lifting a hand in greeting.

“What do you two want?” Boss asked, surveying them suspiciously.

“Got a surprise fer ya, sweetheart,” Twist said, then shoved Red forward. “That is, the little guy does.”

Red glared at him. Twist was just as culpable—if Boss was pissed, then he should share some of the blame. The unrepentant bastard had the gall to wink in response to his glare. Taking a breath, Red turned away from him and stepped forward, trying to grin up at Boss even as he rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. “y-yeah. uh. ya wanna see?”

Boss glanced at Twist—who gave him an enthusiastic, but unhelpful thumbs-up—and raised a brow-bone. “Alright, what did you two do?”

“n-nuthin’ bad!” Red insisted, guiding him over to a shrouded shape. “ ‘s jus’…i thought ya might wan’ sumthin’ a little more your style. ya know?” With that, he pulled the cover off and revealed a matte-black motorcycle. Sleek and powerful, not at all flashy or gaudy. Boss didn’t say anything for a long time. He just stared and trailed a hand over the seat and handlebars, prowling around the bike. “d-do ya like it?” Red asked, fidgeting anxiously.

Boss paused in his circling, and a slow, genuine smile crept across his face. “It’ll do,” he said, the warmth in his tone revealing far more than his words.

 

VI.

Edge never really got over sunrise. Even years after they made it to the surface, he’d pause, midway through his morning run, just to stare at the rising sun and the colors painting the sky. Some days, when the mist hovered near the ground, the sun’s strengthening rays would throw the trees into silhouette and cast rainbows as they hit the hanging vapor. It was breathtaking, even for a monster as jaded as he.

He tried, nearly every morning, to get his lover to join him. He’d prod at the lazybones and say, “Come on, you lump. Get up and start the day.” Rus would only peer blearily at him, then burrow back into the warmth of the bed. Edge just had to sigh at his laziness and head out.

Once, though he knew Rus would tease him for being sentimental, he tried to take a picture of the sunrise for him. It…did not work out well. The colors were slightly  _off_ , and there was just something missing from the flat image. He showed it to Rus anyway, trying to use it to persuade him to get up earlier for once in his life. Rus had just looked at him enigmatically.

Then, that evening, while he was busy making dinner, Rus came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Edge’s ribcage. Setting his chin on Edge’s shoulder, he asked, “are you busy?”

Edge looked between him and the diced onions, knife held aloft. “What do you think?” he asked sarcastically.

Of course, Rus just grinned and said, “well, since you’ve got some time on your hands, come with me.”

“Rus–” But he set the knife down and untied his apron, allowing his lover to guide him outside. “What are you doing?” he asked, jumping a little when Rus covered his sockets.

“got a surprise for you.” Edge shifted, uncomfortable. But he trusted his lover implicitly, and…this wasn’t Underfell. He allowed Rus to guide him up the street without protest. He could sense the slight incline and knew they were headed West. When they reached the top of the hill, Rus pulled his hands away and whispered, “surprise.”

Edge looked out over the hill, “…The sunset?” he asked, not fully understanding.

Rus stood beside him and took his hand, bringing his hand up to kiss the metacarpals. “yeah. i know you’ve been trying to get me to come out and watch the sunrise with you. and…well, this seemed like a good compromise.”

Edge blinked and looked between Rus, his expression so open and happy and  _stars Edge’s soul pulsed seeing that look on his face_ , and the setting sun. He ducked his head a little, trying to hide his own quiet smile. He leaned into Rus and sighed, squeezing his lover’s hand. They watched the sunset in silence for a few minutes, then Edge asked, “You know I’m still going to try to get you to come running with me, right?”

 

VII.

Edge drummed his phalanges against his humerus, trying not to scream. The surface had proved to be, mostly, pleasant. Humans had been surprisingly welcoming and accepting when monsters had suddenly breached the surface. The weather patterns were interesting, and his brother enjoyed seeing the stars. Edge himself was quite fond of the sun. Over all, he was very pleased to be free from the Underground and walking about on the surface.

Except for the current hell he’d been dragged to. Red, Slim, and Twist had all apparently decided that they urgently needed to visit the nearest Walmart. Stars alone knew why, though Edge suspected that not one of them was entirely in his right mind at the moment. Granted, Twist was never in his right mind, but at least he had an excuse that didn’t involve illicit substances. So, of course, Edge come along to make sure they didn’t do anything too outrageous. But, of course, he’d never been in a Walmart before. He could not have known what hell was awaiting him there.

He’d lost the others almost as soon as they made it past the greeters. He might have been able to do a better job of corralling them, except he’d been assaulted by unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells as soon as he stepped inside. There was a McDonald’s located inside the store, so the whole place smelled of burnt grease and french fries. Unsupervised children ran freely through the aisles, screaming and crying. That might have been tolerable, except people kept  _touching_  him. He was used to the stares, but shoppers kept brushing up against him, or grabbing hold of him, and he didn’t understand  _why,_  this was entirely inappropriate behavior he was in a public place didn’t these people know that it was rude, very, very rude to just touch random monsters and  _did someone just pinch his ilium_ –!?

He managed to find refuge in a hidden corner of the store. His soul was still racing and his hands were trembling. His gaze fixed on a nearby bin of boxed candy. And. It was. In complete disarray. He went ram-rod straight. No.  _No_. This was the final insult. He could not just leave it like that.

Growling under his breath, he started digging through the boxes of Milk Duds and Mike ‘n Ikes and other varieties of candy, sorting them into their respective groups and stacking them neatly in the bin.

When his self-appointed task was complete, Edge raised his head, eyelights bright and alert. A pair of blue-vested employees stood a few feet away, staring at him. “What?” he demanded, bristling.

“Um,” the older employee said, wringing his hands. “I don’t mean to be rude…but did you come in here with three other skeleton monsters?”

“…”

“We found one of them riding a tricycle in the toy aisle? And another one was apparently making scary faces at a group of children in the McDonald’s. We don’t know exactly how, we haven’t looked at security footage yet, but the last one apparently unspooled three skeins of yarn and used it to tie up our security officer? Do you, um, do you know anything about any of this?”

Edge considered them very carefully, then said, “No. That’s  _racial profiling_. You ought to be ashamed. I’ll be taking my candy and leaving now.” He picked a box out of the bin at random. As he passed, he growled, “You ought to keep better order in this place. It’s an utter madhouse.”

Neither employee dared to disagree

 

VIII.

“SLIM! FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU MAY NOT SMOKE IN HERE; YOUR DEVIL WEED IS BANNED FROM MY HOME AND ITS ENVIRONS!”

“hardly seems fair. you bring your devil weed over all the time.”

“PLEASE STOP CALLING HIM THAT. FLOWEY IS NOT A ‘DEVIL WEED’.”

 

IX.

Edge leaned against the wall, head swimming and soul pulsing. “Rus—“

An orange tongue invaded his mouth, interrupting his protest. Though, honestly, he wasn’t trying very hard. His lazy counterpart leaned into him, one femur pressing into Edge’s pelvis and rubbing just right. Edge brought up a hand to stifle a moan, but Rus pulled his hand away to nip at the sensitive cartilage surrounding his carpals. “Rus,” he tried again, growling a little this time. But Rus just laced their fingers together and met his eyelights.

“stay,” he said. It might have sounded like an order if it weren’t so plaintive. “stay here, edgelord.”

They’d had this discussion before. This argument. Rus seemed convinced that one day, he would find the right combination of words and deeds to finally persuade Edge to abandon Underfell entirely. Edge, however, knew that he would only ever allow himself to remain in Underswap if his own universe no longer needed him. Either because they’d fallen so far even he could no longer believe in them, or because they’d finally managed to claw their way out of the mess they’d found themselves mired in.

That day was not today, and both of them knew it. But in the meantime, he would allow Rus to tempt him. Edge lifted his chin truculently and brought his free hand up to Rus’ cheekbone. “Give me a reason,” he challenged.

Rus grinned and surged forward eagerly, ready to do just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble "VI" and "IX" were both inspired by @cheapbourbon's artwork. You can see those works [here](http://cheapbourbon.tumblr.com/post/169670304069/sunset) and [here](http://cheapbourbon.tumblr.com/post/166933674774/i-wasnt-going-to-post-this-and-was-just-going-to).


	22. Adopted Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another series of drabbles from my Tumblr--this time, I asked my followers for pairings in answer to the question, "What kind of pet would they adopt as a couple?"
> 
> In a lot of places, I kind of skirted the question, but I'm still very pleased with the results.
> 
> Warnings are in italics!

  1. **RottenMapleBlossom (Slim/Papyrus/Razz)**



“—something fierce and masculine,” Razz said, chin lifted haughtily. Over his head, Papyrus and Slim exchanged a look, both of them smiling while Razz continued to pace. “A snake, perhaps,” he continued, “Maybe even a venomous snake! A cobra or—“

Slim coughed into his hand, getting Razz’s attention. He caught Razz’ gaze, cocking his head slightly. Razz sighed heavily, waving a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes—we’ll remain within legal guidelines,” he said. Contemplatively, he rubbed his chin and sighed. “That means nothing too exotic, I suppose. Nothing poisonous. Or  _interesting_.” He grumbled the last part, obviously irritated by the restrictiveness of human laws. Crossing his arms, he huffed and looked to Papyrus. “Do you have any ideas?” he prompted.

Papyrus gave it some thought. “I’VE ALWAYS BEEN FOND OF CATS,” he said, “THEY’RE CUDDLY AND SOFT, AND THEY DON’T TRY TO STEAL MY BONE ATTACKS!”

Razz snorted, brow-bone raised. “A cat? But they’re so…” He gestured loosely. “Independent.” He sneered, then dismissed the suggestion. “No, no. If we’re going with a mammal, then we clearly need to get a dog. They’re obedient, loyal, and—“

“AND THEY CHEW ON EVERYTHING!” Papyrus protested. “I LOVE DOGS AS MUCH AS THE NEXT SKELETON MONSTER, OF COURSE—BUT REALLY, WRESTING MY ATTACKS FROM THEIR SLAVERING JAWS BECOMES VERY TEDIOUS!”

Razz threw up his hands. “Well we’re certainly not getting a cat!”

Papyrus rubbed his chin, considering. “HMM…THIS DOES LEAVE US WITH A CONUNDRUM, DOESN’T IT?” He turned to Slim. “SMALL-ME? DO YOU HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS?”

Slim considered quietly, trying not to squirm under the scrutiny. Finally, he said, “…a bird?”

Papyrus and Razz glanced at each other. “I…HAVE NO OBJECTIONS. RAZZ?”

Razz crossed his arms and stared hard at the ground. “…a bird,” he said, thinking. “They do have beautiful plumage….”

“and they sing,” Slim shyly added.

Papyrus smiled broadly. “A BIRD IT IS. BUT…WHAT KIND?”

“Something fierce! And masculine!”

 

 

  1. **Mapleblossom**



_(Warning for non-sexual pet-play.)_

Slim was waiting for him when he came home from work, the dog collar already around his neck. Papyrus paused, noting that Slim had at least used the soft pillow Papyrus bought for him to kneel on this time. “HELLO, SLIM!” he greeted, immediately reaching out to scratch Slim’s coronal suture. “WHAT A GOOD BOY, WAITING BY THE DOOR FOR ME TO COME HOME. I THINK YOU DESERVE A TREAT FOR THAT.”

He grabbed the “dog treats”—actually some caramel chews—from the table and unwrapped one, offering it to Slim in an open palm. Slim leaned forward, swiping a broad tongue over Papyrus’ hand to accept the treat. Kneeling beside him, Papyrus continued to scratch Slim’s skull and cervical vertebrae. All the while, he murmured that Slim was a good boy and that Papyrus was so pleased with him.

Later, Papyrus would make dinner and feed Slim by hand, slipping bits of food under the table to him. Then he would either carry him to the couch, or allow Slim to crawl there himself, and they’d watch a movie while Papyrus pet Slim’s spine or rubbed his summoned ecto-belly. If needed, Slim would tear up one of the stuffed dog toys Papyrus offered him, or he might sleep in a bundle of blankets at the foot of their bed.

He wouldn’t speak or remove the collar until he was ready to be a person again. And Papyrus couldn’t ask what had upset him before then. For now, he’d simply cuddle his “puppy” close and continue to reassure Slim that he was safe and well-loved.

 

  1. **TwistedMoney**



Twist watched Cash bring the pet carrier into the living room and set it down carefully. He pressed a hand over his mouth, trying not to chuckle when he saw the gaudy purple carrier. “Whatcha got in there, darlin’?”

Cash straightened, one hand on his hip. “you said you wanted a cat.”

Twist raised a brow-bone. “I asked ya if ya’d ever thought about gettin’ a cat. I didn’t say—“

Cash waved him off. “it’s what you meant.”

Crouching down beside the carrier, Twist peered inside, and inhaled slowly and deeply. “Hey, Cash?”

“hmmm?” The smug bastard feigned confusion, but he was smirking.

“Is this…? Is this cat  _naked_?”

Drawing himself up, Cash said primly, “it’s a  _sphynx_. they’re a hairless—“

But Twist had already caught him up in a crushing hug and spun him around, saying, “Ya got me a  _naked_   _cat_! I can’t believe—!” He dipped Cash, kissing him long and deep. Then, pulling back, he said, “Yer the best boyfriend ever!”

 

  1. **TwistedExpensiveSpicyHoneyDog (Papyrus OT5)**



“What about a Komodo Dragon?”

Four pairs of eyelights turned to stare at Twist, then looked away. “I don’t see why the two of you are so opposed to a cat,” Edge said, arms crossed as he regarded Rus and Slim. Slim ducked his head and scuffed his toe on the carpet, but Rus just rolled his eyelights.

“Or a tiger!”

Cash looked over at Twist, eyelight flaring in interest, but Rus and Edge simultaneously said, “No!” before resuming their argument.

“ ‘cause cats are annoying. and mean. they don’t even really like you; they just hang around ‘cause you feed them!”

“A flock of flamingos!”

Edge glared at Rus. “You just can’t handle keeping a pet that doesn’t completely dote on you!” Leaning forward, he said, “Frankly, I think that says a good deal more about you than it does the cat.”

“A monkey!”

With a sigh, Cash slapped a hand over Twist’s mouth and said, “i’ve got a solution.” Rus and Edge turned to him, and Slim lifted his head, brow-bone raised in question. Chuckling, Cash pushed Twist in front of him and said, “all he needs is a collar.” When Twist started to growl, he added, “and a muzzle.”

Rus and Edge glanced at each other. “…i can live with that.” With a wink, he said, “he’s certainly obedient.”  
  
“But still somewhat independent.”

“don’t forget exotic,” Cash added, smirking.

Twist huffed, but Slim patted him on the head sympathetically, and he leaned into the contact…until Slim said, “good boy.”

 

 

  1. **Spicyhoney**



Rus stared in disbelief. Fang had waltzed over to his shoes, looked Rus dead in the sockets, and started pissing on them. “you—!” Growling, Rus lunged for the cat, but Fang was already running off, growling low in his throat. Looking between the cat and the shoes, he snarled down the hall, “you have a perfectly good litter box! why would you—?” He then realized the futility of trying to reason with a cat and, sighing, stared at the ruined shoes.

He shut his sockets. He was so done with this. Ever since he’d moved in, the damn cat had been tormenting him. It knocked his things off of any flat surface he set them down. It scratched at the furniture, at the carpet, on Rus’ leg. The damn thing was a complete menace—and it wasn’t even cute! It was missing most of its left ear, and a good portion of its tail. And an eye. It was the ugliest, meanest looking cat he’d ever seen, and he was done with this bullshit.

Mouth twisted into a disgusted moue, Rus picked up the shoes with the very tips of his distal phalanges and sought out Edge. “heya, edgelord!” Rus said with faux cheer, slamming the shoes down on the table. “looks like the furball’s pissed. and so am I, actually.”

Edge looked from the ruined shoes and back to Rus. “What did you do?” he asked.

Rus blinked. “what did i—? i didn’t do anything! your cat is the one that peed on my shoes.”

“So? What did you do to upset him?”

Rus stared at him. “edge. i didn’t do anything to upset him! he’s just—a demon! i don’t know!” A guilty part of Rus’ conscience reminded him that he had failed to let the cat outside when Edge had been out running that morning. “it doesn’t matter,” he said, both to himself and to Edge, “the point is—that cat is clearly possessed and i’ve had enough!”

Edge went very quiet and very still. “…Enough?” he asked, voice soft.

Ignoring the warning signs, Rus soldiered on. “yeah. either the cat goes, or i go. i’m tired of living like this.”

Edge shut his sockets and took a slow breath. Then he stood, snatching the shoes from the table and standing uncomfortably close to Rus. “I suggest,” he said, very nearly whispering, “that you give that ultimatum some serious thought. Because I’ve had Fang much longer than I’ve had you.” With that, Edge left, slamming the door behind him. Rus stared at the door in disbelief. There’s no way Edge would choose a cat over him…right?

From the hallway, Doomfanger stared at him, cleaning his paw and staring at Rus. As if he’d understood every word and was completely unconcerned.

Rus spent the whole day at work considering what Edge had said. At first, he was upset and appalled—Edge was being entirely unreasonable. Entirely. But as the day went on, he thought about it a little more, and he realized that…maybe…maybe…Edge wasn’t the only one being unreasonable.

So on his way home, he stopped by the bookstore and bought a few of Edge’s favorite cooking magazines, and then carefully wiped his feet off before walking into their apartment. He called out, but Edge didn’t answer, though he should have gotten home first today. Brow-bones furrowed, Rus stepped deeper into the apartment, checking each room he passed. Finally, he found Edge curled up on their bed with the lights off. Rus paused in the doorway.

Oh.

It hadn’t been a good day, then. Edge could put up a good front when out in public, but at home…he allowed his walls to drop. Rus knew that. More than once, he’d comforted his boyfriend after a hard day at work or at school (or both). He was surprised at the loud, rumbling purr, though. Edge almost never purred—not without a lot of effort on Rus’ part, at least, and not on a day like this.

Then, with a start, he realized that it wasn’t Edge purring. Doomfanger was curled in Edge’s arms, purring loud enough to fill the room with the sound. The huge cat had his forehead pressed against Edge’s, and his arms were looped over Edge’s shoulders in a gesture that seemed uncannily like a hug. Edge, meanwhile, was cuddling the cat, obviously taking comfort from the beast.

Slowly, Rus walked in, setting aside the apology gift, and he laid down on the bed. Carefully, he pressed against Edge’s back, looping an arm over Edge’s waist. He kissed the back of Edge’s skull. “bad day?” he asked softly, though the answer was obvious. Edge nodded silently, still cuddling the cat. “i’m sorry,” he whispered. Edge didn’t say anything, but Rus felt him start to relax a little.

Fang seemed to sense it too. The cat pulled back and stood, stretching. Then, with an indignant glare at Rus, he curled into a circle and laid down, one paw possessively planted on Edge’s cheekbone.

Tentatively, Rus reached out and petted the cat. “sorry, fang,” he murmured, “i know i pissed you off this morning, but i promise i won’t do it again.”

Snorting, Edge asked, “Are you lying to my cat?”

“shhh,” Rus said, “he doesn’t know that!” Settling more firmly against Edge, Rus set his chin on his shoulder and added, “besides…i figure we’ve got to make peace with each other. you know. since we’re all gonna be living together.” A lot of the tension left Edge’s shoulders, and he reached out, pulling the cat close.

Fang somehow purred even louder.

 

  1. **Puppymoney**



Cash would do anything for Slim. So, when Slim asked Cash if he was interested in adopting a puppy, Cash had agreed immediately and started looking into different dog breeds and dog breeders. He even looked at the various places that trained emotional support dogs. His boyfriend deserved the best, after all, and money was not an issue.

So he was somewhat surprised when, a couple weeks later, Slim took him to the animal shelter. Slim held his hand as they walked between the cages, smiling softly as he peered in at the various dogs. Cash walked beside him, his movements jerky and his posture stiff. This was not his idea of a pleasant outing, and as far as he was concerned, none of these mutts would be suitable companions for his boyfriend. Slim deserved the best. A well-trained, well-bred dog. Not—

Slim paused in front of one of the cages, where a medium-sized dog stood at the front of the cage. Her whole body wiggled in excitement, and her tail wagged so fast it was little more than a blur. “what do you think of this one?” Slim asked him, smiling slightly. That one? Cash surveyed her. Stars, he couldn’t even tell what breed she was supposed to be. She wouldn’t have papers. They’d have to train her themselves. No, no. She was entirely—

Slim brought a hand up to the front of the cage, and she immediately whined and started licking his hand. Then she pressed her side against the fencing, hoping to be petted. Both Slim and the dog looked up at him, hope and excitement beaming back at him. He dipped a hand into his pocket, fiddling with his coin. “you really want this one?” he asked, brow-bone raised. Slipping his fingers in between the bars to scratch at her ear, Slim nodded. “then i guess we better find an attendant. there’s probably paperwork to fill out.”

Cash would do anything for Slim. And…the dog was kind of cute, he supposed.

 

  1. **Twist/Papyrus**



_(Warning for implied past animal abuse. **)**_

Twist took a deep breath, motioning the dog forward. Head down and tail tucked, the pit bull obeyed. He whined quietly, until Twist knelt down beside him and scratched behind his ears. Then he wagged his tail hesitantly, though the big dog was still shaking.

Looking up at Papyrus, Twist said, “I know he ain’t all that pretty ta look at.” The dog’s face and body was scarred. “He ain’t…he ain’t had the best life.” Twist rested his fingers on top of the dog’s head, his gaze down. “But. I was hopin’…hopin’ ya might wanna keep ‘im. He, uh, he needs a good home, an’-an’ I can’t think of a better skeleton fer the job.”

Papyrus looked at both the dog and the skeleton, afraid his soul might break. He forced himself to smile, though, and say, “OF COURSE! I’M HAPPY TO TAKE HIM IN! DOES HE HAVE A NAME?” Twist shook his head. “THEN WE’LL JUST HAVE TO THINK OF ONE.”

Twist looked up at him, head cocked. “…we?”

“CERTAINLY! YOU’RE HIS RESCUER AREN’T YOU? HE’LL BE MOST AT HOME IF YOU STAY TO MAKE HIM FEEL WELCOME!”

Twist hesitated. “I—“ But the dog pressed its head into his chest, and the scarred skeleton folded around him. “…okay,” he said, standing. Papyrus stepped aside to allow them both in.

Well. He’d gotten them both through the door. Now he only had to make them both feel welcome. Not an easy task…but who better than the Great Papyrus to meet such a challenge?

 

  1. **Papby**



Uncharacteristically hesitant, Papyrus looked to Grillby. “MAY I—?” He cleared his throat. “THAT IS…WOULD HE MIND IF I WERE TO PET HIM?”

Grillby shook his head, then reached out to take Papyrus’ hand. Fingers laid overtop Papyrus’, he reached out to the fire salamander and showed Papyrus how to pet the fiery creature. Warmth seeped into his finger-bones, sandwiched between two fire monsters as he was. Neither was putting out any intent, though, and his bones remained unmarred.

The fire salamander trilled and rolled onto its side with a rumbling sigh. Papyrus beamed. “HE-HE LIKES ME!” When Grillby turned to him, Papyrus drew himself up and said, “I MEAN—OF COURSE HE LIKES ME! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS AFTER ALL!”

Chuckling, Grillby turned his chin and kissed him gently. Very softly, his voice overlaid with the crackling of flames, he said, “* _what’s not to like_?*”

 

  1. **Edgepuff**



Edge was the first to rouse, as always. Neither of them were heavy sleepers, but Edge was especially easy to wake. He shifted to sit up, stifling a yawn as he glanced at the clock. 1:50 AM. A little early, but they would need to prepare the milk and bottles anyway. Beside him Papyrus sat up, blinking himself awake. “It’s time already?” he asked, voice softer and scratchier from lack of sleep.

Edge just nodded, too tired for words. Together, they made their way down the hall, listening to the squeaking cries. Doomfanger sat at the end of the hall, looking grumpy and suspicious. He peered up at Edge as he approached and meowed reproachfully. Edge bent down to pet Fang, ruffling his fur a bit, while Papyrus retrieved the basket from the spare room.

Several kittens were nestled inside, their eyes barely open and mewling loudly. Each kitten was small enough to fit easily in the palm of a skeleton’s hand. Two were fluffy and grey, while a third was sleek and white. Another was a short-haired grey tabby, and the last was bright orange. While Edge warmed the milk to the proper temperature and prepared the bottles, Papyrus cooed to the kittens and picked them up one at a time to cuddle them individually. Fang supervised the entire process with a disapproving look on his face.

When the bottles were ready, Edge returned to the living room and sat beside Papyrus, passing off a warmed bottle and picking up the little ginger kitten. It mewled loudly, crying for food. He stroked a thumb down it’s back before cradling it against his chest and offering the bottle. It drank eagerly, and he couldn’t help but smile faintly, exchanging a look with Papyrus.

Neither of them had ever needed much sleep anyway.

 

  1. **Rottenjoke**



Sans smirked, tiptoeing around the couch to fetch his phone. He couldn’t believe the scene he’d come home to. Razz and their new puppy—a mix of pitbull and something else—were both dead asleep on the couch. The puppy was very nearly Razz’s size at this point, and draped over him like a blanket. Razz himself was snoring faintly.

It was too cute. Sans had to get a picture—if only to prove to Razz how adorable he was. As soon as he raised the phone, though, Razz snapped awake. “What’re you doing?” he asked blearily.

“nothing!” Sans said, hiding the phone behind his back. Razz studied him suspiciously, then turned his attention to the dog.

”Get this mutt off me,” he said, though Sans could hear the fondness in his voice.

Stretching, Sans grinned. “nah.”

“Nah? What do you mean—?Oof!” Sans flopped on top of Razz, waking the puppy. He squirmed happily and started licking Razz’s face excitedly. “Gah! Get off!” Razz said, but he was laughing, and when Sans snuggled down beside him, he didn’t protest. Even when the puppy took off to play with his toys, the two skeletons remained on the couch, cuddled together and smiling happily.

  1. **Spicyhoneyberry**



_(Warning for mourning, grief, and the death of a pet.)_

“are you sure, bro?” Paps asked, though he didn’t look at Blue as he spoke. His gaze was on Edge, scrubbing the kitchen floor on his hands and knees.

Blue was watching Edge too. “I.” His mouth clicked closed, and he set his hands on his hips, chin lifted. “I don’t know,” he finally said. A far cry from his usual confidence. “But we have to try, right? And I can’t think of anything better. Can you?”

Paps reached into his pocket, toying with his lighter. “nope,” he finally said, “i’ve got nothing. let’s do this.”

They turned to each other and nodded, then Blue bounded forward and went skidding across the slick kitchen floor to tackle Edge. They’d been on the surface for five years now, and while Edge’s guard wasn’t down, he knew that he was safe in their house. Their  _home_. He didn’t struggle or fight when Blue’s arms encircled his chest; he just let out a soft grunt and sat up. Blue clung to his back stubbornly, giggling. “What are you doing, pipsqueak?” Edge asked, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Paps was relieved to see that smile. Kneeling in front of Edge, he said, “we’ve been talking.”

Edge cocked a brow-bone. “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Blue said, squeezing him. “We were wondering if you might want to….” His smile faltered a bit, then he pressed on, grinning harder. “We thought you might want to go to the animal shelter today.”

The faint smile disappeared, and Edge went very still and very quiet. “I see,” he said simply, then with a shake of his shoulders, dislodged Blue. He refocused on the spot in front of him, scrubbing with undue force. “Yes. Because he was just a cat, right?” Edge glared hard at the floor, pushing so hard Paps was afraid he’d wear a hole in the linoleum. “Not even a pretty one at that. He should be easy to  _replace_.” The venom in his tone made Paps flinch, but he reached forward nonetheless, stilling Edge’s hands.

“precious,” he said softly, though Edge growled at him. “fang was special. we know that. no one’s trying to replace him.”

“You didn’t even like him,” Edge snapped, which wasn’t fair. Sure, Paps hadn’t exactly gotten on well with Doomfanger at first, but over time, he’d come to love Fang too. Edge knew that. He managed to hold Paps’ hurt gaze for a few seconds, then he looked away. His fingers, cradled between Paps’ hands, twitched, itching to get back to work. But Paps squeezed his hands, refusing to free him.

“We all loved Fang,” Blue said, draping his arms over Edge’s shoulders in a loose hug from behind. “We aren’t trying to replace him.” His soft laughter was rueful. “We couldn’t, even if we wanted to.”

“no other cat’ll ever be like fang,” Paps agreed, and Edge squeezed his sockets shut, chuckling bitterly.

“Little hell-beast.” The harsh term was spoken like an endearment, and Edge’s chest hitched as he said, “Fucking cat was a stars-damned terror.” One corner of his mouth pulled up as he dropped his head. Pride and amusement and sorrow thickened his voice. “Even the D—“ He took another shuddering breath. “The Dogs knew not to fuck with him.” Tears slipped down Edge’s cheekbones. “I—“ But he cut himself off, instead reaching out and pulling Paps into a hug. Sandwiched between both Swapbrothers, Edge cried quietly. Blue murmured soothingly against his acoustic meatus, reminding him that it was okay to cry, okay to be upset. Paps just held him tight, wishing he could ease the ache in the other monster’s soul.

“S-stupid soul-bond,” Edge complained as he tried to wipe the tears away. Prior to their soul-bond, his LV had prevented him from crying. Even now, years later, he was embarrassed to be seen crying—especially over something that he didn’t consider to be worth the tears. Choking on a sob, he said, “S-stupid cat. He sh-should ‘ave jus’ stayed at the dump where I found ‘im. He didn’ need us. An’ I didn’—I didn’t—“ But he buried his face in Paps’ chest, unable to complete that thought.

The Swap brothers eyed each other. Blue’s sockets were teary as well, and Paps adjusted his grip so he could hug his lover and his brother at once. This was good, he knew. It had been nearly a week now, and Edge hadn’t allowed himself to cry or to mourn. He’d just been bottling it up—using cooking and cleaning as an outlet for his grief. 

Once Edge calmed down, they managed to coax him out of the kitchen and onto the couch. They piled together, Blue and Paps purring as Edge’s crying quieted to a wordless melancholy. Blue’s projections washed over them, and eventually, they fell asleep like that.

 

Weeks later, Edge agreed to accompany them to the animal shelter. Despite his insistence that they were only going there to  _look_ —they most certainly weren’t going to bring anything home with them!—they ending up adopting a pair of kittens. A delicate-looking black female, and an orange tabby that was already a little pudgy. “They’ll completely wreck the house,” he said, but he was smiling. “Kittens have absolutely no manners.”

Blue cuddled the black one close. “That’s okay. We can teach them.”

Paps pet the orange tabby, wincing when he bit him. “nice to meet you too,” he said sourly. Edge chuckled, pressing the tabby to his chest. His gaze was still sad, and through the soul-bond, Paps could still feel that distant ache. Only time could fix that. 

Having the little hell-beasts around certainly wouldn’t hurt, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what your favorites were. ^_^


	24. Chalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being pregnant is not making it easy for Edge to manage his eating disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: skelepreg, **eating disorders** , pica, weird cravings, mild weight gain (of the non-pregnant partner), ectoglesh, hormones. 
> 
> Pairing: Spicyhoney (Stretch is called Rus)

“What about...strange cravings?” Edge asked while Swapdyne measured his abdomen. He didn’t look at the tape, didn’t ask what the number was—he didn’t need to know how fat he was. He hadn’t looked at the scale, either.

“O-oh,” Swapdyne said, smiling. “Perfectly n-normal. Anything s-specific that y-you’re concerned about?”

Edge sighed, unable to look at Swapdyne as he confessed, “...chalk.”

She blinked. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Chalk!” he snapped. She jerked away, hiding behind her clipboard as he glared at her. “I have been...” His hands closed into fist, and he exhaled hard. “Craving. Chalk.”

“O-oh. Um.” She jotted that down while Rus started to rub his shoulders. Edge glared at him, and he backed off, raising his hands up as a sign of surrender. “Th-that’s actually n-not uncommon. C-considering y-you’re s-skeletons, you m-may need s-some extra c-calcium in y-your diet. B-but. Um. D-don’t eat chalk—“

“I haven’t been eating it!” he said, indignant. “Just. Craving it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin, as if daring her to contradict him.

She just cringed, lifting the clipboard higher. “I-I’ll p-prescribe you s-some c-calcium supplements,” she squeaked.

He huffed, nodding. Hopefully that would take care of the weird cravings. “Are we done here?”

The clipboard rose higher. “A-actually. Um. I-I-I—“

Edge sighed, rubbing the space between his brow-bones. Great. He broke her. Rus stepped forward, giving Edge a look. “it’s okay, ‘dyne. say whatever you need.”

Looking at the ceiling, Edge started counting tiles even as he said, “Yes. I’m not angry at you. I’m just frustrated. Please continue whenever you’re ready.”

It took a few minutes, but when she was calm again, she said, “I’m c-concerned about your w-weight.” She wasn’t the only one; he felt like he was smuggling a small watermelon in his pelvis. “You’re s-smaller than you should be. Th-there’s n-nothing to be c-concerned about y-yet, but you sh-should be aiming to gain a-about a pound a week from here on.”

He blinked. “Are you joking?! Underweight? _Under_ weight? Have you seen me?”

Rus stepped in front of him, shielding Swapdyne from view. “right. thanks. that is really good, important information for the health of our _future child_ , ‘dyne. any suggestions?” he asked.

Edge sighed, covering his sockets as he listened to Rus and Swapdyne talk. Fantastic. This was just great. Especially because he knew—he _knew_ —that the others in their extended family would be informed of this visit in short order. Probably Felldyne too, because somehow being pregnant meant that his health was suddenly everybody else’s business. And not one of them seemed to understand how to fuck off when asked.

...and now he was crying too. Because of course he was crying.

He wiped the tears away fast, hoping that Swapdyne and Rus were too involved with each other to notice. He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and tried to force the tears back, even though it felt like his soul was being strangled. He managed to get himself under control, features schooled into an irritated mask and sockets dry by the time they turned back to him.

A list and a few brochures were clutched in Rus’ hand, and he thanked Swapdyne for her time and care. “Yes,” Edge said, hopping off the exam table—ignoring the way it jarred his middle. He cupped the bottom of his belly— ~~stars above, he didn’t just have a belly, his belly had an _underside_ ; how the hell could Swapdyne say he was underweight?!~~—and said, “thank you for your advice. And the supplements.”

“N-not a problem. I’d like to see y-you a-again in a few w-weeks—“

Edge could not deal with that right now, so he just strode out of the office and allowed the door to shut behind him. Not quite a slam but close enough. He waited out in the car for Rus, trusting him to make the appointment. A few minutes later, Rus took his place in the passenger seat and slouched down, looking over the information Swapdyne had given them. “so. you want to pick up this prescription?”

Edge nodded, checking carefully before pulling out into the parking lot. ~~How long before he was too big to drive?~~ “Sure.”

“...why don’t we go to the drugstore off of main? there’s a chinese place next door. we could have lunch—“

“Not hungry.”

Rus looked at him. “...edge.”

Edge growled. “Leave it.” Before Rus could say anything else, he turned the radio up loud enough he’d have been concerned for their eardrums if they had them. Rus just sighed and read through the brochures.

-

That was not the end of it. Not by a long shot. Edge knew it wouldn’t be, but he’d hoped that Rus might at least try to be a little subtler about it. Within a day, though, there were suddenly little bowls of trail mix scattered throughout the house, a variety of fresh fruits in the kitchen, peanut-butter and crackers and various healthy snack-foods in the pantry, and their fridge was stocked with plenty of milk, yogurt, and two different kinds of ice cream, which just seemed excessive.

Edge might not have minded if Rus hadn’t also started packing his lunch for him and, when they were at home together, repeatedly asking him if he wanted a snack. Maybe a banana, or some cheese and crackers, or maybe celery and peanut-butter? The chart that appeared in the bathroom—his current weight neatly written in the “Week 20” box—was nearly too much. He almost tore it off the wall, but in the end, he just sat down heavily and rested his skull in his hands, allowing himself a moment to cry. But only a moment.

He knew that Rus was in the right. He did. And he wanted their child to have the best start possible—of _course_ he did! But…he was so tired of people asking how he was feeling, if he could feel the baby moving yet, if he was nervous, if he was hungry, if he was tired, if he needed help—it never seemed to end. Worse still were the people that appeared to think his pregnant state was an automatic invitation to talk to him, to offer their ‘advice’ (and their disapproval when he didn’t follow it), or—worst of all—to touch him. It wasn’t just exhausting; it was infuriating. And this extra bit of fussing—in his own home, where he was supposed to be safe from it—was starting to grate on him.

Rus was at least restrained enough to wait nearly a week before he said, “edge, we need to talk.”

Edge did not want to talk. “I’m reading,” he said, “We can talk later.”

Rus sat down on the other side of the couch, picking up Edge’s feet and setting them in his lap to make room. He pressed his knuckles into Edge’s metatarsals, massaging the bone. Edge’s sockets slipped closed, and he flexed his toes, relaxing into the pressure. Rus’ fingers crept upward, rubbing his tarsals. “saw the chart,” he said, and every bone in Edge’s body went stiff. “edge, you _lost_ weight.”

“Less than half a pound,” he said, voice rough. His throat was thick, and his soul felt like it was being crushed. “Maybe the scale’s off—“

“edge.”

His hands curled into fists, and he exhaled hard, setting the book aside. “I hate that fucking chart.”

Rus ran a hand up and down his tibia, massaging the bone. “you want to tell me why you’re not eating? are you still nauseous?” Edge shook his head. He hadn’t been nauseous in weeks. “what is it, precious? you can talk to me.”

He looked away, fingers picking at the upholstery. How did he even begin to explain this? “I.” He shut his sockets, trying to find the words. “Everyone’s always fussing over me. Treating me like an invalid. Acting like I can’t do things for myself or make my own decisions. Everything— _everything_ —from what I eat to how much I weigh to how I exercise is scrutinized and picked apart and—“ He stopped, took a breath. “It’s like being put under a microscope and picked apart. And this—“ He laid a hand on his belly. “—is not helping.” Running his fingers over the surface, he winced when he felt the faint flutter of movement within. A reminder of the life he was currently failing to protect and provide for.

Rus scooted closer. Pulling Edge into his lap, he wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his skull. Rus’ hand settled under his own, rubbing his belly. “okay,” he murmured, “i still don’t see why you aren’t eating.”

Edge leaned into him, pressing his head into Rus’ collarbone. He shrugged. How did he explain that it was one of the few things that still made him feel like he was in control of his own body and decisions? “I.... I don’t know.”

Rus held him for a while, neither of them speaking. “what can i do to help?” he finally asked. Edge could only shrug again.

“If I knew, do you think we’d have this problem?”

Rus considered that, nodding to himself. “guess we’ll have to figure it out together,” he said. He took Edge’s hand, and they stood together. “first things first—what do you want to eat?”

He flinched. “I don’t—“

“edge,” Rus said, resting a hand on the gentle swell of ectoflesh. “c’mon. you’re growing a whole new person. i know you’re hungry. i’m hungry and all i’m growing is a sympathy belly.”

Edge cocked his head, and Rus, grinning, hiked up his shirt and summoned his ectostomach. Sure enough, his softer stomach swelled noticeably outward. “hey! whaddaya know—looks like i found all the weight you’re supposed to be gaining.” Edge snorted and shook his head.

“In that case, I have the perfect solution; you eat for me,” he said dryly.

Rus allowed his shirt to drop and took Edge’s hands, guiding him toward the kitchen. “c’mon, precious, i know you want to do what’s best for the little bean. what sounds good? it can be anything. if we don’t have it, i’ll run to the store for you—or wherever. whatever you want is just a quick shortcut away.”

Edge took a deep breath, hiding a flinch. He genuinely didn’t want food. His soul felt tight and constricted, and he just knew that anything he put in his mouth was going to taste like ash. Nevertheless, Rus was right; he wanted the best for their child. “You pick,” he finally said, unable to think of anything—aside from fucking _chalk_ —that sounded even remotely appetizing.

Rus faltered, but he looked Edge over, then nodded a little uncertainly. “can do!”

Of course, he should have known that Rus would not be able to resist making ice cream sundaes, considering they had all the ingredients on hand. Eating it was a chore, but Edge managed to force down a few bites before he had to take a break. Watching him, Rus seemed to realize exactly how difficult this actually was for him. After he’d finished his own sundae, he scooted his chair closer to Edge and looped a hand around his waist. He kissed his shoulder-blade and rubbed his hand up and down Edge’s side, running his fingers over his ribs and belly. “you’re doing really good, babe.”

A brief flare of irritation caused Edge’s hands to tighten. For a moment, he wanted to shove Rus’ hands away and storm off. But he knew that Rus was only trying to help, and he wasn’t really angry with Rus besides. He was angry with himself.

~~Had he really thought this would be easy?~~

Allowing himself to sag against Rus, he stirred his spoon in the quickly melting ice cream. He took a bite, trying not to grimace at the too-sweet taste and the heavy, almost slimy texture. He swallowed thickly and forced down another bite. Fighting with himself while Rus offered his support. “Talk,” he ordered, stirring the ice cream as he worked up the will to take the last few bites.

“uh. about what?”

“Anything.” He considered that. “Other than food or—“ He gestured loosely, hoping Rus would understand.

“right. no food talk or vague hand gestures. got it.” Edge glared at him, but he just grinned and launched into a story about his last outing to a local coffee shop. It was stupid and probably made up, but it made Edge smile, and it distracted him from the thick taste of melted ice cream lingering on his tongue.

When he was finally finished—his soul uneasy and his magic uncomfortably hot—Rus kissed him long and deep, pulling back to say, “i’m proud of you.”

Edge shut his sockets, leaning his forehead into Rus’. “Yes. I managed to perform a very basic function. You must be so proud—“ He did _not_ squeak when Rus pulled him onto his lap. He _didn’t_.

Hands resting on both sides of Edge’s belly, Rus ran his fingers over his ectoflesh, smiling warmly and genuinely. “i am proud! you’re taking care of yourself, and you’re taking care of our baby. why wouldn’t i be proud?”

It was too much for Edge. His chest hitched and his sockets squeezed shut as he tried to hold back the tears. “S-stupid h-hormones,” he growled, annoyed and happy and sad all at once. Rus just pulled him in and held him close, rocking him slightly.

“i’m here,” he whispered, “don’t worry. i’m here. you’re not alone.”

It only made Edge cry harder, but when the tears finally ran out, he felt better.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently, I'm working on a sequel to Broken Bones, so I'm temporarily suspending updates to this and my other short story collection. I'm going to post the drabbles from my most recent drabble night over the next few days (which...sort of turned into short story weekend...because I'm overly verbose), and after that, I do still intend to post pt. 2 of 'Seeds of Affection', but BB's sequel will be my priority.
> 
> I'm sure you guys understand.
> 
> In the meantime, I have a tumblr. 
> 
>  
> 
> [@itsladykit](https://itsladykit.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  I post updates on my stories, fic recs, reblog art, answer questions, and sometimes writing advice. Feel free to drop by and say hi~. : )


End file.
